Insusurro
by Remington Rand
Summary: "Potter, if you don't stop wriggling, this will be the last time I allow you to sleep with me,' sniped Draco, pulling the blankets closer to him." Something is making it very difficult for Draco and Harry to stay apart, and it's not romance or sex. At first, anyway. Drarry. Rated for some graphic scenes. [Reupload]
1. Chapter 1

It started with a crawling sensation in his skull. He'd ignored it at first, resisting the urge to scratch the skin there. Then the crawling gave way to humming, but even that was fairly easy to tolerate. The day everything began to change was the day the humming had evolved into whispers, ghostly wisps of black tails wrapped around his spine so tight it was hard to move.

He argued with them, sometimes. The whispers. People had begun to notice the constant muttering, the dark circles around his eyes, the fingernails bitten to the quick. He began to shrink, his bones jutting out of his skin like little daggers, begging to slip through the wan, tired flesh.

But no one made a move, no one asked—because it was Draco Malfoy, and it was wise to stay out of his way.

Draco found himself with eight extra hours in his days, now. The trick was, when he needed to feel a little bit sane, to find the loudest place he possibly could. The whispers didn't reach him there. So he went to every meal, picking at his food, but mostly relishing in the lifted weight off his shoulders. He used to care about what the others thought, used to try to hide his elation. Draco thinks he's so far gone nothing really matters anymore, so he just lets himself enjoy that silence, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

But soon the dining halls weren't enough. The whispers were stronger now, droning on and on repeating the same broken phrases over and over. Sometimes they didn't make sense. One day, he'd had to listen to _yellow teacup nine _repeatedly, until he'd succumbed to a sleeping potion.

And quite predictably, the voices trailed after him, pushing past the once sturdy walls of the sleep potions, furling in his head menacingly, waiting until he'd snap again. They seemed to find delight in his tortured silences, but were even more gleeful when he screamed until his throat bled. Silencing charms were useful with this sort of thing.

The days just seem like a long expanse, until night greets him. Amongst the Scottish hills, he'd look up at the stars, screaming all the while, and it's only then, while drowning out the voices and tracing the freckles of light across the skies, that he feels sane.

The voices, disturbingly enough, had found a new way to wring his frayed nerves even farther. Tortured thoughts—_you no good piece of shit, you ruined everything, die—_bothered him less than the new way they'd devised to get his attention.

_You can lie all you want, but _we _know. _We _know all of your dirty little secrets—love, Malfoy? _Really? _Love? _The voices snarl, tugging at his spine authoritatively. The snickers rattle against his bones. _You spineless little bastard, love isn't for people like _you.

They like to remind him of how human he is. Well, how human he _used _to be.

He's not even a Malfoy anymore.

o-o-o-o

When the once-feared Slytherin collapses, the weary eyes suddenly turn into concerned ones. Suddenly everyone is all hands, all feeling, saying, _wake up, wake up now, we want to help you, you need to wake up. _

He doesn't.

Flittering around in his head, he hears—_he's far too thin, we can't give a potion to this boy. Surely, surely there has to be something we can do? _That's all he hears, before the voices take him away again.

_That _makes the voices go wild. Not with pain or fear, but with amusement. There seems to be no end to their cackling. They remind him, again, of his apparent lack of a spine, and have evolved, giving them the power to inflict pain at their will. Draco has the upper hand in this situation, because when he's locked in his head with them, they can't do shit. And it's almost blissful.

Eventually, though, he does wake up.

The room is quiet, light seeping through the doorway. He's aware of the murmuring down the hall, and of the nearly subconscious muttering that's started under his breath again. Draco hasn't missed much of the real world at all. But then, he thinks, he hasn't been part of the real world for a while.

A flash of red catches his eye and he turns, slightly, to meet the gaze of the boy beside him. There should be words said, here. Words dripping with malice. Except Draco can't say them, because the voices are loud and a little distracting.

_Fucking queer, say something! _The jeers are not very original, and it's odd how something as off-putting as voices in one's head can become expected.

And Potter, with bloodied gauze in one hand, just stares with those irritatingly bright green eyes, calmly, like it's _normal _for mortal enemies to tolerate each other's company.

Madame Pomfrey comes back, ushering Harry out, telling him he's dawdled long enough.

"Hello." Draco manages so calmly it even surprises him. Madame Pomfrey is a bit more reactive, jumping up with a squeal. Her face pales, and she stammers, "I must get Snape and the Headmistress right away!" She turns, as if to flee, then pauses. "You'll be all right, won't you, for a few moments?"

"Of course," Draco says, and settles down against the pillow, staring at the ceiling.

Things get messy only once the three adults return to the room.

The voices remind him, with blows to his shins, to not say anything about them.

_You don't want us to kill that Godfather of yours. Or maybe Potter would be the better bet. Throw you to Azkaban, isn't that what everyone really wanted?_

He swallows hard at the mention of Azkaban.

"It's simply work exhaustion," Draco lies easily.

Snape, in a rare moment of poorly hidden concern, votes to send Draco to St. Mungo's immediately. A flitter of concern runs across McGonagall's face as she stays quiet, mulling over the situation for a bit.

"Well, Severus," murmurs the older women, as she eyes Poppy looking at his chart, "If there's no real reason to send him to Mungo's, I don't see why he can't rest up here."

They have no reason to not think it's work exhaustion. After all, the only observable effects are tiredness and weight loss.

"With everything that's happened…" Severus trails off.

They purposely leave the room to decide his fate. And all Draco can do is hope his lying pays off.

Snape, upon his return with the others, says, "You're staying here for the next few days. And after that, Madame Pomfrey will decide if you need to stay longer."

It seems like his lying did the trick.

Until McGonagall mentions the part about counseling.

Her tone is soft, and it's a little odd, coming from her. "…After your health has returned, I'm assigning you mandatory counseling for thirty days. We both feel that you need it, Draco,"

Oh yes, this is a problem indeed.

o-o-o-o

It's not long before everyone knows he's in the infirmary, and the incredulous whispers race around the halls like wildfire, stories of his fate slipped to another's lips with such smooth, simple exchanges, Hogwarts is actually in a slight uproar with all the rumors. Some say he suffers from a muggle-disease, and that he's only got days to live. Others say he's gotten the last tendrils of a curse from the war, and it's only just shown. The official story, says Snape, is that he's succumbed to work exhaustion.

Except it's rare to see Draco Malfoy to succumb to _anything_, so this poor explanation is discarded easily for want of a better—and more exciting—story.

Four days has crawled by, and he hasn't slept. He's got nothing to do except stare at the speckled ceiling above him, hiding clenched teeth behind grim lips. Madame Pomfrey's been busy with an amusing gaggle of first years, who've gotten themselves in quite the predicament while in Potions. One chubby boy cannot stop hiccupping frogs. The wet slap each green creature makes against the cold tiles causes Madame Pomfrey to shudder. She, presumably, dislikes amphibians.

Draco sits up, throwing on his robe, eyeing the woman carefully as her gaze stays locked on a particular toad inching toward her foot. He cannot stand this silence anymore, and enough is enough. He tried a silencing charm a few times, at night, to scream in his pillow for some relief, but Madame Pomfrey had caught him and simply told him to go back to sleep. Once in the hallway, pulls his robe closer to his body, forcing his tired bones to keep him up.

When he gets outside, Draco is surprised to see that it's almost evening. The rest of the students must be finishing their supper or retiring to their respective rooms, because there's no trace of anyone outside. That, he muses, he is thankful for.

The voices are louder, howling, jabbing his ribs with their long claws. As of late, all they speak about is _Snape _and the various ways in which one would kill the man.

_Pull his bones out, piece by piece, roast the flesh—_

—_flay the skin, the iron will make you retch_

_Avada Kedavara is far too merciful in this case, we want to take it _slow.

About to head for his familiar hills, fully prepared for a lovely screaming session, his ears prickle at the sound of footsteps behind him, and a very familiar voice.

"And what," Snape drawls, putting a hand on his shoulder, "exactly do you think you're doing, boy?"

There's a brief pause in which Draco's eyes flicker to his Godfather's, trying to read his expression before he says a word. Draco wonders what he would say if he knew what the voices said about him. Snape raises a brow in question, his robe swishing quietly as his arms pulled across his chest.

"Do you _know _how utterly boring and _silent _the infirmary is?" Draco says, matching the older man's drawl.

Severus looms above him, looking at him with that typical foreboding stare of his, probably meant to strike fear somewhere in him. It doesn't work, but what typically does work anymore?

"Madame Pomfrey told me you'd dashed out," Snape said, taking one arm easily. He flinches, for a moment, staring at the way his fingers wrap around the thin limb, but continues, "I could take you to St. Mungo's right now, Draco, if that's what you'd prefer."

—_slit his throat, maybe_

…_expunge his entrails?_ _An Incendio spell would do nicely here—_

As the two turn to head back to the infirmary, their path is blocked by a particular brunette who, upon noticing their presence, proceeds to widen his eyes and open his mouth, possibly in hopes of giving an excuse as to why he's lurking in the hallways in the first place. Snape easily overpowers his meek tone, eyes glittering dangerously as his hand subconsciously drops from Draco's arm. "Well, well. _Harry Potter. _And why, pray tell, are _you _wandering the halls at this time of day?"

Draco's lips curl into a sneer. Harry's eyes flitter to his own grey ones, dulled by exhaustion and hunger.

"I had to speak to Madame Pomfrey about something." Harry explains quietly, though he really has no reason to be so subdued in Snape's presence anymore. Old habits die hard.

"Ten points. Don't let me catch you again," Snape says, voice warning of further repercussions when Draco isn't around.

With a final glance at the blonde in front of him, Harry retreats.

When the two men return to the infirmary, Draco notices the first years have gone and Madame Pomfrey's attention is all on him. Draco grumbles at this, muttering under his breath about how he's survived much worse things, he doesn't need a mother to look after him. The word _mother _sends a pang through his chest, and it's not the voices' fault this time.

Snape gives him a glance of warning, and leaves without a word. Staring at the same ceiling again, Draco's expression turns into one of pouting, arms crossed against his chest childishly.

"Oh," Madame Pomfrey says, cutting into the voices' chatter like a blade, "Someone left this for you." She hands him a parcel. He stares at it, wondering who on earth would actually leave something for him. But his curiosity wins out, and he opens it, seeing one of the oddest contraptions he's ever come across.

Picking the thin item up, he almost drops it when he realizes how light it is. It's blue, fitting into his palm but threatening to spill onto the ground at any given moment. At the top is a white strand of rubber, eventually splitting into two thinner strands, with two cylinder-like objects at the end.

At the bottom of the box is a piece of parchment, detailing what actions the circle on the item performed. Further inspection of the parchment explained that the item was an 'iPod', a muggle item designed to play music.

"Eye pod?" Draco murmurs, bewildered. He eyes the odd circular ends of the wire wearily ('Ear buds,' states the parchment, but Draco wonders what kind of plant would create such a thing), but decides he has nothing to lose and hesitantly puts one in his left ear. It fits snugly, resting there without any help.

One index finger presses the lower part of the blue rectangle, and Draco stifles a yelp when he sees uppermost part light up. What kind of item _was _this! The parchment explains how to navigate through, and Draco, never one to _not _answer his curiosities, proceeds to run his finger along the circle, amazed at the pictures that ensue.

His body twitches slightly when the music begins (who was this 'Britney Spears' person, and why was she asking about this Amy girl?) but smiles when he realizes what this magical little item means. He puts the other earbud in, raising the volume, drowning those horrid voices out.

Madame Pomfrey says something, but Draco doesn't hear. He's too busy keeping the hysterical laughter from bubbling out of his throat.

So, Draco is horrified when, a day later, the beloved 'Eye Pod' promptly turns off, and refuses to alight no matter what he does. He's not sure what this means, but Draco is sure that he's broken it somehow and there seems to be no end to the forlorn expression on his face.

A simple _reparo _spell does no good. The item he has quickly grown to love is indeed, no more.

o-o-o-o

It should be said that an angry Hermione is a dangerous Hermione. She, thankfully, was not in possession of her wand at the moment. Harry was at least safe from any kind of hex, but physical violence did not warrant the need of any magic. He proceeded to hide behind a pillow as she yelled, eyes flaring.

"You're telling me," she snarled, "you _gave _my iPod to _Draco Malfoy?!" _Her long tresses caused shadows to dance on her face, illuminating the effect of danger.

Hermione had gotten the music player as a gift from her parents, and it had somewhat sentimental value to her, though she never used it much. So for Harry to simply take it without asking…it was uncalled for.

"He needed it," Harry said, in lieu of a real explanation. The red pillow in front of his face muffled his words, and the fingers were bone white, creasing the fabric further.

"I don't care! You _took _it, and gave it to _Draco sodding Malfoy!" _

The air tensed around them as she leaned in closer, whispering, "Where is he?"

Harry peeked out from behind the pillow, asking, "If I tell you, will you promise not to kill me?"

"I will promise no such thing!" Hermione snapped, tapping her foot in impatience.

"He's still in the infirmary." Harry sighed.

Hermione promptly grabbed her wand and left without a word, still seething.

Draco was still mourning the loss of his little friend when Hermione, with the grace of a hippo, stormed in loudly, startling both the blonde-haired boy and his healer counterpart.

"_You," _it was a low growl, something Draco had never heard come out of the girl's mouth before. Scratch that, he hadn't seen her look so positively murderous before. "_Accio _iPod!" The item in his hands flew away, landing in the hands of the girl now standing at the foot of his bed.

She tossed him a glare and stalked away, ignoring Poppy's questioning.

In the hallway, Hermione sighed, deciding to seek out some alone time away from her friends. "Honestly, Draco _Malfoy!" _she muttered, her robe swishing behind her as she headed to her books.

It took a few moments for Draco to get over the surprising outburst of Granger, but when he did, a new thought arrived.

_Harry Potter was the one who gave the parcel to him in the first place. _

An owl cut into the silence, dropping an envelope into Madame Pomfrey's lap and uttering a forlorn farewell before flapping away. As she read the letter, lips moving silently, Draco felt impatience rise quickly.

"Well?" Draco asked curtly.

She looked up, seemingly unfazed by his tone. "You may leave, Mr. Malfoy. The Headmistress has given you permission to return to your room and recover there. You are not to return to classes until she permits you to. Someone will give you your work."_Finally. _Draco didn't need to be told twice. He leaves, the first thing on his mind being a shower.

Showers, Draco decided, were lovely things. The heat surrounded him, water pattering on his back gently, soothingly. Applying a generous amount of body wash into his hand, he rubbed it onto his skin, ignoring noise in his head.

There were only so many times a man could listen to random snippets of loud conversationbefore snapping. They laughed, pleased when he'd finally yelled at them. They didn't take kindly to being ignored, and so his long-avoided muttering was music to _them. _

But they'd stopped being venomous, for the time being, settling for simply being irritating.

When others were around, they took advantage of the twinge of self consciousness he had, pulling and ripping until it grew into a sharp dagger.

_He looked at you. He knows. He knows! You disgusting piece of—_

—_do you know what they think? They think you should be dead, why do you think they ignore you?_

_They want to hurt you, Draco. Get under your skin, rip that heart of yours out, make you bleed. See, they're laughing. Don't you see it in their eyes? They're all laughing, laughing. _

Being in that infirmary was an escape, he realized. Tomorrow he'd have to face the others—and his accompanying guests' reminders.

Toweling his hair, he catches his reflection in the mirror.

The voices remind him, like a broken record, of how repulsive he is—it's all they really say, actually, but every time they say it, it increases in meaning.

After he dresses in a fresh set of clothes, he leaves for his Scottish hills, the howling from his throat long needed. Oh, he's missed it so.

o-o-o

_Part of this chapter was inspired by BurningSky's fic, 'Eye Pod!' Read it, if you have the time. I quite enjoyed it. _

_Also, I'm not sure if she will see this, but I want to thank my reviewers for their input, especially _Maria_ and _I know okay_ for catching some errors and giving me some great suggestions on where to go with this! _


	2. Chapter 2

When he arrives to the Slytherin common room, Draco pretends he doesn't see the unabashed stares. He _could _toss a glare and scowl their way, but he decides it's ultimately pointless and slips away to his bed, pulling the curtains around tight enough to dull the quickly disappearing light outside. Thin, spidery fingers push the books jabbing into his side to the floor as he leans back, the softness of the comforter surrounding him, almost maternally.

"Draco?" A feminine voice whispers, hesitancy obvious.

Draco's lips twitch in annoyance. He pulls the green barrier back, staring into the eyes of Pansy Parkinson. "Yes?" He says, not even attempting to soften the curtness in his tone.

"You, er, have a visitor. Would you like to allow him inside?" Pansy's expression is one of poorly concealed surprise, and Draco scowls. _Surprised _I _have a visitor, are you? Bitch. _

He waves his hand in a lazy gesture of agreement, ignoring Pansy's widened eyes. She proceeds to stand there for a moment, gaping at him like a fish. "Well? I _don't _have all day, contrary to popular belief," Draco snaps.

Pansy disappears, and Draco nestles in closer to his pillow, seeing no need to stand up for a greeting. He has a fairly good idea of who it is, anyway. The footsteps click against the floor, and he doesn't bother to look up when the owner of those footsteps arrives at his bedside.

"Malfoy," Harry says neutrally, with a slight nod.

"_Potter." _It's a hiss. Harry's eyes flicker in annoyance.

"I've only come to see you to tell you that I'm going to be in the library tomorrow, at four."

It's second nature to scowl at him, and Draco hardly notices it. "And why, exactly, do you feel the need to tell me this?"

Harry looks at him, green-blue eyes matching the fire in his own, animosity running through his veins. "I'm required to tutor you in the classes you've missed."

A hollow laugh escapes the blonde's throat, making Harry flinch. "I think I can manage on my own, Scarhead."

Harry shrugs. "If you want to repeat the year, sure. You haven't been attending most of your classes for a while. Did you really think no one would notice?"

_Well, it's not like they _want _to notice me half the time, _Draco thinks bitterly. He also chooses not to mention, that when one is being tormented by what appears to be auditory hallucinations, concentration is damn near impossible. "I can find a tutor on my own." He snaps.

"Good luck," Harry says, arrogance marring his features, "Why do you think I'm here in the first place? _No one else offered." _

"I'll be fine. Now leave_." _

"I don't bloody know why I volunteered anymore," Harry mutters, fully aware of the glare from his blonde rival as he retreats.

Two hours later, Draco, in the middle of pretending to read a particularly dry chapter on tea leaves, realizes that, in the few minutes that he had spoken to his rival, the voices had been completely silent.

It is, for the reason of his sanity alone, that Draco finds himself in a small corner of the library the next day, Harry sitting parallel to him. When the blonde first arrived, Harry lifted a brow, a smug smile on his lips. Now, though, he's muttering about what they should start on first, apparently ignoring the barbs Draco throws at him.

And Draco _needs _him to look him in the eye, and engage in verbal combat, because he hasn't experienced real silence in far too long.

"So I hear the Weasel and the mudblood are together now. Makes sense."

_That _sparks something in him, and Harry's head snaps up. "_Don't _call them that."

"What? _Weasel? Mudblood?" _The emphasis he places on the words causes Harry's expression to quickly darken.

"_Shut up, Malfoy." _Harry snarls, leaning close to him, across the table, the warmth from his body touching his skin, reminding Draco of how cold he is these days.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"Do you want my help or not?"

Malfoy pauses, not sure how to answer this question. Because, true, he does want _Potter's _help (a mental shudder runs down his spine), but not in the way that the Golden Boy thinks.

"Well, it isn't any fun if we aren't at each other's throats," Draco finally drawls, lazy smirk on his face.

"I would just like," Harry says, weariness in his gaze, "to get this over with so I can leave."

Draco snaps at that, rage seeping into his core. "I'm not stopping you, _Potter!" _

And with that, Harry proceeds to get this things together and leave.

"_Fuck." _Draco hisses, slamming a fist on the table in front of him. He's disappointed, but not sure why. He got what he wanted, after all.

But he wanted _more. _

o-o-o-o

Later, McGonagall sends him an owl, detailing when and where he was supposed to attend his counseling session the next day. Snape was going to accompany him, to "make sure he got there safely," but Draco doubted safety was really the reason for having an escort.

Snape hardly seems pleased when he meets his godson the following afternoon. But then again, Snape never really seemed happy to begin with. "Let's not dawdle, Draco. I have things to do," he says curtly, holding the floo powder in his hand tightly.

Draco rather disliked the whole flooing business. It was dirty and messed up his hair. But he knew better than to push Snape's buttons, and followed without a word.

The office they arrive at is ghastly. The carpet is a pea green, with slightly peach-tinted walls. Draco feels his metrosexuality drop down by many points with his simple presence there.

"Sit," Snape commands, after speaking quickly with the mousy-haired receptionist. "And don't move until your name is called." With that, he leaves, not bothering to utter a farewell.

The receptionist hops down from the desk and hands him a clipboard with a pen attached. It's not a quill. It's an _actual _pen. "Answer those questions and Dr. Richards will be with you shortly."

Draco skims the questions on the sheet, snorts disdainfully, and decides not to answer them. What kind of fool did they take him for? If he answered any of these, they might as well lock him up in the psych ward of St. Mungo's right now.

"Mr. Malfoy?" A middle-aged man steps out of the doorway across from him, smiling neutrally. "I'm ready for you now."

Draco just sneers, shoving against the man's shoulder as he enters the room. When they're both seated, he looks around the room, skims the book titles on the shelf beside him. The window behind the man streams in, little strips of light squeezing past the blinds.

"So," Dr. Richards begins, keeping his face disarmed, speckled grey hair parted neatly. His dark eyes speak of curiosity, and Draco decides he does not like this man at all. "Would you like to explain a little bit about why you're here?"

"No." Draco answers bluntly.

"Well, how about I tell you a little bit about myself and what I do?"

He chooses not to respond.

"Okay, well, I take on both muggle and wizard clients. Two days a week are dedicated to my magical clients, and the other two to my muggle clients. Less risk of being discovered, you see."

Draco's silence doesn't seem to bother him, and he continues smoothly. "My general approach to therapy is a cognitive approach, which means I engage the client in with speaking about whatever may be bothering them. Any questions so far?"

Draco just stares disinterestedly.

"I don't expect you to trust me right off the bat, so why don't we talk about something you're comfortable with?"

_Don't fall for it, he _wants _you to talk to him. _

_Then they'll send you off and…_

The voices hardly needed to warn him of these things.

"So I hear you used to be quite the seeker. Any particular reason you're not on the team now?"

_Yeah, I became a death eater and everything went to shit. _Draco thought, but simply shrugs.

Richards stays quiet for a moment, presumably trying to think of a way to get him to slip up and talk. Draco wonders if Richards would have been a Slytherin.

"Are you close with anyone at school?"

Draco is careful to not let the question get to him, keeping the bored expression on his face flawless. He's had practice at this, after all. And he'd be damned if some _counselor _was going to try to get him to spill out his secrets.

Richards continues to ask him mundane questions like that, and Draco deflects each of them silently, the voices in his head hysterical every time the man speaks.

"Well," he looks up at the clock, "I think that's enough for today. Let me give you my card."

"No, I'm fine." Draco says flatly, and leaves the room.

Snape is waiting for him there, looking restless.

"Let's go," he says, waiting for Draco to leave first.

He obliges.

o-o-o-o

Draco, a few nights later, has found his new favorite place in London. It's smelly and messy and overall _disgusting, _but completely and absolutely _perfect. _The bright neon lights flash against his skin, giving him an illuminative appeal, the beat of the clashing music running up his body like a lover. He ignores the smell of sweat and the glassy-eyed muggles pressing against him.

He closes his eyes, swaying against the wall, small smile on his face.

A tall, sinewy boy approaches him, far from sober, blue eyes clashing against the bright greens and reds and yellows in the air, and leans beside him, teeth glinting as he smiles.

"You're cute." He says, lips millimeters from his ear.

When Draco turns his head slightly, to look at him, the boy closes the distance, lips mashed against his. It doesn't matter to him that it's a boy, doesn't matter to him that it's a _muggle, _because it's been so fucking long since he's been _touched _and he's suddenly an animal, finding some strength in himself somewhere to shove the boy against the wall, bony hands roaming his partner's sweaty skin.

The other boy shoves his finger in his hair, pulling tightly, nails scraping his neck as he pulls Draco's shirt up, hands running down, between, across the concave places of his skin. He's aware, somewhere, of the rumbling of the moan escaping his throat.

They pull apart, and Draco feels himself getting dragged along the wall, scraping against his shoulder bones. He's not sure where he's going but can't muster up the ability to be even the slightest concerned.

Pushing past a door, the room he's been taken to smell of piss and vomit, mirror cracked, floor grimy with slick dirt and condom wrappers. Draco immediately understands, and pulls in for a sloppy kiss, the stranger inching down his neck, bruises scattered in a trail as his hands work at his pants.

If he could say anything, Draco would probably say something like _finally. _

The hand wraps around the throbbing organ tightly, flicking across the head, causing a stifled moan to bubble up from his chest, rib bones pushing against his partner's hands as he breaths became erratic.

The boy murmurs something he doesn't catch, and the loose black briefs are torn roughly from his hips, his cock surrounded by _hot _and _wet _and the tongue swirls tortuously around the part he needs its touch the most.

Draco sighs when he's taken in completely, the boy's throat muscles doing something _amazing _right _there, _and it's no more than a minute when he feels the release building, building, his body growing rigid and taut, his hands clawing at the stranger's head.

And then a strangled gasp worms its way out of his throat, the milky white substance hot as it spurts down the wet canal, his partner's tongue lapping gently at his softening member.

"Oh, _Christ." _Draco manages, sweat trickling down his body, his legs shaking as he tried to keep himself up.

The boy pulls his briefs and trousers up gently, fingers flittering across his skin as he does so. With a slight nod, he leaves the blonde there, recovering, staring at himself in the broken mirror.

o-o-o-o


	3. Chapter 3

Obsessions have never sat well with Harry. Like a cancer, they whirled, twirled inside of him, tightening every muscle, every limb, till he wants to scream from utter exhaustion. It happened with Voldemort, it happened with the diary, it happened during the war. Ruminating was, unfortunately, something he was far too skilled at. And he has to admit, part of his obsession, for years, has been with a particular blonde.

His thoughts flitted to the Slytherin, lazy musings stirring in his head, as he remembered the last argument they had.

"_Well, it isn't any fun if we aren't at each other's throats," _

"_I would just like to get this over with so I can leave." _

"_I'm not stopping you, Potter!" _

But yet he was. The sole fact that he even came to the library that day, without any command from an authority figure, made Harry's obsession flicker, the flame curling in his stomach, growing larger as he turned ever word, every memory in his head like a stone, trying to find some miniscule detail he may had missed before.

It's been a month. A long, drawn out month. Harry has been all-too aware of the lack of tension in the air, the lack of sneers and retorts.

"_Harry!" _There's an odd moment of hope when he looks up—_Malfoy?_ Of course not. Malfoy would never call him by his first name.

Hermione and Ron look at him, exasperation etching their features. It's in that second that Harry remembers he's at breakfast.

"We wanted to know—" Ron begins, pausing to take a bite of his toast.

"—Whatever happened with _Malfoy_? You never bothered to tell us! Honestly, I don't know why you volunteered in the first place, you two hate each other!" Hermione finishes, apparently reading his current train of thought.

Harry just stares for a moment, glassy eyed, until recognition warms his gaze and he says, easily, "Oh, he didn't show the first time. "

Ron snorts, "Figures. Bloody wanker."

Harry takes the short silence to divert the conversation. "So, Hermione, did you do your Dark Arts coursework?"

And she, predictably, slips into a rant about how irresponsible he is, and that she wouldn't be around forever and needed to stop depending on her to get him out of the trouble he constantly put upon himself.

Harry tuned out, his eyes turning to the empty spot at the Slytherin table, his thoughts rekindling the cooling fire within him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The voices have taken a turn for the worst. They're no longer cackling nuisances, like they often used to be. Their observations cause fear to spike, his breathing turning heavy, eyes wild, roving, bloodshot.

He doesn't know how long he's been in this closet, but it's dark and musky and _safe. _

He's constantly shivering, from cold or from fear, perhaps both. His fingers were gnarled, bony, curved into little claws, sticky blood staining his fingertips.

Somewhere, in the saner part of his mind, hidden by the voices' screeching, Draco is aware of the sting of pain at the back of his head, dried blood and clumps of hair littering his shirt.

There was a bug there, humming and crawling, betraying his thoughts, relaying them to his enemies. But it was gone now, so his thoughts were safe. The voices were safe.

And then the door opens, light seeping in, killing the darkness around him, a dull ache behind his eyes.

"_Draco." _It whispers.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There's been a wave of rumors, whispers that cause Harry's ears to prick up, interest ignited. He pulls his books closer, busying himself with his robe as he strains to catch the words.

"_Did you hear?"_

"_About Draco Malfoy? Pity, isn't it?"_

"_Kind of figures, though, his father was always kind of a nutter."_

"_I heard it took five people to restrain him. They had to petrify him."_

"_Did they take him to St. Mungo's?"_

"_Probably. Psych ward."_

"_I wonder if he'll ever come back?"_

"_No, once you're lost like that…you're lost forever."_

And something like crushing fear falls upon him, causing him to skip class altogether and head to his dormitory.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Severus finds himself pacing the floor, the white tiles squeaking underneath his heavy footsteps. The ward smells sickly sweet and bitter, like his classroom after the first-years have successfully failed to create the simplest of potions. The walls are light yellow, supposed to be uplifting but just sickly.

Minerva is perched on a hard beige chair, worry fitting on her face like a second skin, lips curled downward. Severus secretly hates her at the moment, for ignoring his earlier request to send Draco here in the first place.

A doctor greets them, finally. Severus thinks he's far too young, far too neat and tidy. Brown hair, hazel eyes, an irritating comforting smile on his face. He's short too, for a man. No more than five feet, five inches. Severus looks down at him, finding some twisted sort of joy in the fact that he could cause quite damage, physically, if needed.

"He's stable. The wound to the back of his head was mostly superficial, but there were numerous other sites, so we have to shave his head completely. Because he's so weak, we really can't risk using too many spells on him."

Severus briefly wonders what his godson looks like without his treasured locks of white blonde hair.

"What are you planning to do to him?" Minerva asks quietly.

"Because of his emaciated state, the first thing we need to do is get him physically healthy before we even start on his mental health."

Snape takes in a breath, not fond of what that sentence implies.

"We'll have to restrain him for the next few weeks."

"Is it a curse?"

"At this point, we don't know."

"Do you know _anything?" _Snape snaps, false coolness dissipating around him quickly.

"He's in good hands, Mr. Snape. I promise you that."

He simply sneers and says, "If he was in good hands, you wouldn't be locking him up like some…some…" Severus is uncharacteristically lost for words.

A warm, tanned hand rests on his clothed arm. "Trust me. We'll do all that we can."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He feels like an animal, trapped, heart hammering against his chest like it's about to burst through any moment. Guttural moans escape his throat as he pulls, his bones slamming against the table harshly, bruises forming upon fading yellow ones.

His skull, snipped clean, traces of fingernails still in the wounds, feels ice cold.

"Let me go," he says hoarsely, to the ceiling above him.

He's aware of glassy, blank stares around him, making no movement toward him, nor any sign that they've heard him.

The voices are screaming, but they're always screaming, rattling inside his head. _Look! Look! _They howl, _they've trapped you and now they're going to dissect you. They're going to know what daddy did, what he did to you and they're going to laugh and laugh. Because you loved him anyway and he ruined your life and you still want him to say, _I'm proud of you.

_And then, _a voice whispers, curling beneath his ear with its black breath, _they'll take you to the Death Eaters. Torture is fitting, Draco, for all your betrayal. _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Harry has the increasing and pressing impulse to leave Hogwarts that night, and slip into the hospital. There's a morbid curiosity, one everyone else is guilty of as well, but the anxiety that seeps into his bones, causing his movements to be jerky, jumpy, is something very few people are experiencing in the light of Draco Malfoy's abrupt departure.

Sleep is something that doesn't come to him, so Harry sits at the window, thinking, until the sun peeks out beneath the soft darkness.

Ron, usually a late sleeper, catches him there, and there's no escape from the conversation that Harry knows will ensue.

"You've been odd lately, mate. More than usual. Something on your mind?"

Harry wonders what Ron would say if he told the truth, but settles for a lie, "Just been stressed lately. With everything that's happened…"

Ron stays quiet for a moment, then splits into a comical grin. "Well, at least you aren't going mental like _Malfoy. _I reckon he deserved it, the slimy git."

Harry can't stop the flinch that runs through his body. It's struck a nerve, and as oblivious as Ron usually is, even _he _sees it.

"Harry," Ron begins, bewildered, "you can't possibly…_feel bad." _

_There it is. Suspicion. _

Of course he's suspicious. He's sick to his stomach about the boy he hates, and it's not the animosity that's making him shiver.

Anger and the need for self preservation runs through his veins, and he runs a hand through his dark locks before heatedly replying, "You wouldn't fucking get it, all right, Ron? So just _shove off!" _

He hasn't the energy to explain, to lie and paste on a smile today. The anxiety, the obsession, it's consuming him whole and _no one _would understand, even if he tried to explain. Because Harry doesn't fully understand it himself.

Rising up, he leaves the common room in search for peace.

"Harry—" Ron begins, but he ignores his friend's frantic appeal for explanation.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When they jab the needle in his arm, the one with the softening sheen of the tattoo, he snarls. All he can see is eyes, and Draco is far too strung out on sleep deprivation and fear to notice anything amiss with his vision.

"—_why didn't the spell work?"_

"—_for fuck's sake—"_

Hands grab his face, and he manages to catch fingers with his teeth, a pained yelp echoing behind him. Draco begins to laugh, hysteria rumbling deep inside him, his body jerking with each unsettling guffaw. In response, his neck cracks painfully as someone more powerful takes over, holding his mouth open roughly.

When the liquid sloshes in his mouth, the hands cover his mouth and nose, forcing him to swallow the substance down. Oxygen rushes into him when he is released.

And then the eyes drift away.

The doctor, holding a bloodied index finger against some gauze, is panting.

"There's something wrong with this kid."

"No shit," snaps one of the more crude nurses.

"Well? What do you think?" The doctor says, quickly healing his finger as he spoke, leading his team out of the room.

"I say," one intern murmurs, "you've got your hands full with this one."

The doctor's eyes narrow, lips setting into a grim line. "Does anyone have anything of value to tell me?"

No one in the group around him speaks. He just sighs angrily, and storms away, toward his office, positive that the rest of the day will be spent with books.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Hermione finds him in the library, settled in a giant armchair in the corner, staring glassy-eyed at the window beside him.

"Harry," she says gently, putting a hand on his own, "What's wrong?"

A long, withering sigh emanates from the boy. "I'm tired of this place, Hermione. I need to get away."

Hermione takes his statement to mean a sense of displacement from Hogwarts, so she kneels beside him, hugging him briefly before saying, "You know, Harry, everything's changed for everyone. You're not alone."

He just stares at her, shrugging. Her statement is horribly misguided, as it isn't _Hogwarts _that's the problem. No, not at all.

"Why not take a bit of leave? I'm sure if you explained, McGonagall would understand."

Harry pastes on a small smile. "You're right, Hermione. I should do that."

Except, where do you go when it's your _head _that's causing the whole mess? No obsession has pulled him so close to the brink before.

Brink?

"_Well, at least you aren't going mental like Malfoy."_

Except, Harry thinks, uneasiness rising into his throat like some sickly claw, that's exactly what Malfoy is doing to him—driving him insane.


	4. Chapter 4

"You have to realize, Mr. Potter," the older woman states, her eyes nailing him to his seat, lips curled into a severe expression, "That while we are all thankful for the things you have done for this school, I can't very well just hand out vacations whenever someone wants one, you see?" She sets her dainty hands on the desk, waiting patiently for his response.

"Yes, but…if I could just get a few days to clear my head—" Harry stops abruptly. The air is musty, smelling of old books and cat fur. The chair he's currently sitting in makes a squeak of protest when he shifts his position, for lack of a better thing to do.

"Harry," Minerva says, softer now, "You know you can talk to me, if you need to. And you also know that it's not safe out there, especially for you. I'm only thinking of your well-being, Harry. Please don't be disappointed."

Harry stays silent for a moment, debating on whether to give a polite response and give up, or to ask another question.

He decides on the safest route. "I understand, Prof—I mean, Headmistress." It's been hard to get used to her shift in power.

McGonagall just looks at him, with that sad, quiet look, the one she usually gives him now.

The door behind him shuts quietly, causing particles in the air to spin wildly as he did so.

If anyone had stopped him in that moment, and asked Harry why, exactly, he was putting everything on the line for _the _Draco Malfoy, he wouldn't have answered.

It wasn't that he didn't know. He knew. It just wouldn't fare well, if _others _knew.

The clawing, painful obsession had started during the same time Draco showed the initial signs of anorexia and lack of sleep. Harry hadn't figured it out at first, he wondered right along with everyone else, until Draco was taken away and Harry started slowly losing sleep and was managing to fake a normal appetite.

It was only a matter of time before everyone else noticed, and knew.

_He heard the voices too. _

So, really, there was only one thing to do.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It should be said, at the beginning, that this particular day was the day for coincidences. Because on this day, a nurse had taken Malfoy's restraints off to inspect the wounds, and, seeing as he was in a deep sleep, decided not to put them back on.

Healer McCormick failed to notice this, performing spell after spell with no success.

He was one of the lesser liked staff. He was American, for one, and his accent was noticeably out of place, one many people teased him about behind his back. His notorious temper and impatience caused many interns to fear making a mistake. The fact that he was shorter than most of his male students was speculated to be an additional factor to his anger, but no one dared to say so.

He also hated being wrong. And being bested by an unconscious adolescent in a psych ward in front of his pupils did not soothe his trembling rage. No matter the spell, each was deflected easily, like the boy really was dueling with him.

Except he was _asleep. _

"Greene! Chen!" he barked, his face growing redder with each second, "Read every book on potions you can find, and get me a goddamn _cure!" _The interns, with wide eyes, darted from the room, secretly relieved to be escaping his impending rant.

He turned to his trembling group, the three younger interns pressing flat against the wall, waiting for the screaming to begin.

His mouth opened, teeth glinting against the fluorescent light above him, his molars showing many silver fillings.

It was in that moment that Draco Malfoy decided to wake up from what was supposed to be a deep sleep. The Draught of Living Death was _supposed _to be something one could not recover from without the aid of an antidote.

This was clearly not going to be the case.

Draco, free of his binds, leapt from the hard table, gnarled hands scraping across McCormick's face as he turned to avoid the man's outstretched arms.

All he sees are stretched out mouths and wide, haunting eyes.

"_Who the fuck took his restraints off?" _howled McCormick, thin trails of blood running down his cheek.

Draco would have easily been caught, as his lack of complete vision left him slightly disoriented, and a simple hex could have subdued him long enough to get the strong, burly men to hold him down.

But this day was the day for coincidences. And they were evidently in the blonde's favor.

A lone desk chair had wheeled its way into the hallway, causing the group of people chasing the escapee to fall over each other like dominoes.

If it hadn't been for a certain brunette, who, prior to the whole debacle, decided to see Malfoy for himself by hiding beneath his invisibility cloak, clearly disobeying his Headmistress's orders to stay at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy would have been caught quite easily.

At the Healer's raised wand, Harry shouted, _"Expelliarmus!" _

He grabbed the blonde's arm and tugged him toward a flight of stairs. The Slytherin doesn't have time to react, but sees blurry shapes around him.

"_Glisseo!" _And then Draco found himself on a slide with Harry's hand holding his.

It's the first time that Draco realizes his vision had been shot to hell. The floor, counters, _people_ came sharply into view.

At the bottom, where the exit was waiting for them, security waited. Harry paused for a moment, then stood, bringing the blonde with him.

Seemingly ready to surrender, one of the men began to walk to them.

With that, Harry gave a curt nod, and the two boys disappeared in smoke.

Perhaps, because he was the famed boy-who-lived, Harry Potter's presence was just so unexpected that rational thought was slower to occur. Perhaps the staff at St. Mungo's were just incompetent. Perhaps Harry's luck had simply come through for him once again. Whatever the reason, Draco Malfoy had successfully escaped, leaving Healer McCormick with a particularly distasteful mess on his hands.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It occurred to Harry, as he had apparated to the middle of London in broad daylight, that perhaps breaking out Draco Malfoy was not the wisest action. It certainly hadn't been his plan. And Harry could see why he had been at the hospital in the first place, as the blonde's pale fingers were currently digging into Harry's shoulders quite painfully.

The pale eyes were wild, unfocused, his normally soft lips cracked and bleeding. And he was screaming—granted, it was really a hoarse moan, not nearly as loud as an actual scream, but still—it wasn't the most secretive of actions to take when one has escaped from lockup.

If Malfoy could talk, he would yell at Harry for taking him on such a ride. He wanted to vomit but could not, as he hadn't eaten in a while. Had Potter given him a warning, though, that he was about to take one of the more terrifying trips of his life, then maybe he'd feel a little more obliged to be calm.

"_Draco!" _Harry yells, and despite being ignored, he calls his rival's name out again, to no avail.

"_Draco Malfoy, be quiet right this instant!" _That causes his eyes to focus a bit, the sound abruptly ending. After a moment, recognition skitters across his face.

"Yes." Harry says, "Yes, it's me. I won't be taking you back there; you haven't a thing to worry about." Which isn't entirely true, as a particularly large manhunt would be out for them in a matter of hours, but he chooses not to mention this.

A mute Malfoy is odd, but that seems to be the case at the moment. Harry does not hear nor feel any resistance as he takes him across the random street that he had apparated to, to an alley.

"Now, Malfoy," the blonde has returned to his unfocused, glazed state, and Harry sighs, snapping fingers in his face to get him to focus again—Draco smacks him, scowling, and Harry realizes the boy isn't nearly as crazy as he seems. "We can't stay here, you understand? We have to go somewhere where no one would think to find us."

There's a silence as Harry thinks of possible places to disapparate to, and Draco stares at a bird flying in the sky.

The Leaky Cauldron was clearly not an option, as the news about the-boy-who-lived and the heir to the Malfoy legacy would surely be out far too soon. The Grimmauld Place would be far too obvious. The Malfoy Manor was a laughable thought.

The Shrieking Shack wasn't the most secretive place, but the two boys would be hidden for a few hours, giving Harry more time.

And time was rather important, as his plan had become significantly more complicated.

"Malfoy, we're going to the Shrieking Shack, and I don't want to hear any complaining about how it's not up to your standards."

Draco just keeps staring at the bird, flipping his counterpart a rude gesture, and Harry sighs, taking one thin arm with his hand, promptly disappearing in the shadows of the alley.

Dust suddenly whirls around the two figures as they land, harshly, in the beaten architecture, still believed to be haunted by the younger students. Draco looks at his environment blandly, teetering dangerously, and Harry looks at the boy he committed a crime with.

"So why can't you talk?" Harry asks, settling in a corner, ignoring the dust that sticks to his robes.

Draco shoots him a look. _You think I can tell you? _His eyes watch the boy as he grabs a piece of charcoal from the fireplace, and searches for something to use it on.

"Here, try to write on this," Harry hands him the charcoal and a random piece of longboard.

Draco rolls his eyes, tossing the wood away. _Really, Potter. Can't you find something better?_

Harry scowls, and then disappears into the neighboring room to find something, anything. He returns with a book and its binding. The blonde takes the binding first, scrawling the letters as small as he can in response to the question.

**Screamed too much. Lost voice. **

Harry reads this, and the flicker of pity isn't lost on Draco. He frowns, and takes the binding back, writing furiously. Smudges of black stain his hands.

**Why did you take me? What did you do to me?**

The last three letters are crammed into the remaining space of the line, barely recognizable.

"I didn't _do _anything to you," Harry snaps, irritated.

Draco lifts a brow, rolling his hand in a gesture that told him to keep going.

"_You _were barreling into me! And, I don't know, I wasn't thinking." Harry's final words end on a whinge, drawn out in an irritating tone.

Draco writes, **Why were you there?**

Harry hesitates, unsure of how much he should really reveal about his motives. Draco snaps his fingers, pointing his index finger at his wrist impatiently.

"Shut it, Malfoy. I can take you back anytime, you know,"

Draco glowers at him, arms crossed.

"I realized something, that day I came to see you. You know, at your dormitory." Harry pauses, looking at the blonde briefly. Draco tries not to look interested.

"The voices—"

Draco holds a hand up, shutting the boy up effectively, as he writes something down. His hands shake.

**Did they stop for you too?**

Harry's expression quirks into a frown, but his heart's not really into it because of the exhilaration running through him. "If you'd let me finish, you'd see that was what I was trying to say."

Draco ignores the comment, staring at the smudged binder in front of him, as if he was trying to think of what to say next.

**When? **

"When did they start, you mean?" Harry takes Draco's huffy expression to mean yes, and says, "After you left."

Draco frowns. **You said they stopped when you saw me.**

"Right, the whispers didn't start until you left. Before that, it was like static. You know?"

Draco shakes his head. **No idea, Potter. **

"No humming? Clicking? Irritating sound that wouldn't go away?" Harry tries.

He smirks, and lifts up the hard skeleton of the book again. **Looks like you're the one going crazy. **

"I was," Harry admits.

Draco seems far too pleased at this admission, so Harry kicks him in the shin. A strange sound escapes the Slytherin's throat, and he glares at Harry.

**Got enough bruises already, you prat. **

Harry instantly feels guilty.

There's an awkward silence, so Harry stares at the top of Draco's head, where his hair has been cut away in small patches, leaving mismatched strands all over the place. Harry has the strange impulse to touch a particularly long strand dangling in the boy's face, curious as to how it feels.

When Draco rises to take a piece of curtain and wrap it in a bundle, Harry catches sight of the dried mark on the back of his head. He returns, perching upon the rolled up fabric like some sort of royalty, and notices Harry's expression.

"Did it hurt? When you…you know."

Draco shrugs. **Don't remember, **the scrawled letters inform him.

"You're quite the mess, you know," Harry informs him.

His eyes flare, hands grabbing the shorter boy's shoulders.

_Shut up, _Draco mouths angrily.

"Get _off _me, you wanker!" Harry snaps, shoving him away, watching the body fall back harshly against the floor.

The book cover gets thrown at him, nearly hitting him in one eye, with the words scrawled in large letters, taking up the whole rest of the space: **Don't talk to me, Potter. **

"Fine!" Harry snaps back, childishly, "I'll just _leave, _then!"

Harry proceeds to stand up and walk out the doorway, but nearly trips when Draco's hand shoots out, grabbing one ankle, a baleful gaze coming from his eyes.

The hand is wrenched away easily, and Harry is gone before Draco can even get up.

"_Potter," _

It's one strangled, pained whisper and it's all that Harry needs to hear.

He returns to his corner, eyeing the Slytherin moodily. "I still hate you, you know." He murmurs.

Draco pretends not to hear.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry and Draco were at their hideout for no more than an hour when an explosive gust of smoke assaulted their senses, revealing a very unpleased and scowling Snape. The man's black eyes glittered, drilling into Harry's gaze with such force the boy scooted further away from his elder.

"I am just _thrilled," _drawled Snape, "to see you here, Potter. Surely you have some excuse for _why _you decided to take Draco—whom, might I add, is your bitter rival—away from safety and to _this _shoddy dump?"

"Not really," is his eloquent response, and Draco stares at him in exasperation. He rips a page from the molding pages and begins to write. Snape seems to find this interesting, as his venomous stare has been diverted to the skinny blonde.

**It's a curse. **

Snape looks at Harry, with a smoldering gaze. "Why can't he talk? What did you do, Potter?"

"Nothing!" Harry says sharply, offended.

Snape lifts one dark brow, but leaves it be, focusing on the note instead. "Curse, Draco?" He mulls over this for a moment, letting the page drift to the floor below him. "The Healer in charge did seem insolent. I will be sure to explain your sentiments, Mr. Malfoy, when you return to your ward."

"No!" shouts Harry, who's managed to be quiet for longer than a minute, rising from his position wearily. "I-I mean, please don't," he says, at Snape's withering glare. "We…if I leave," Harry said, eyes downcast, "it'll only get worse, for the both of us."

Snape does not look convinced. "You have approximately three minutes, Mr. Potter, to tell me _why _you're babbling like an imbecile."

"Malfoy hears voices, and I do too. Except when we're together. It's like it cancels out, somehow. And I wasn't _planning _to take him away, it just happened. I wanted the cure, and figured Malfoy'd be fixed right up by now."

Snape gives him a mirthless smile. "I do believe, Mr. Malfoy, that we should continue this at Hogwarts." With a snap of his fingers, Draco rises, takes the arm offered to him, and promptly disappears.

Harry gapes at the sudden disappearance, having not been able to wrap his head around the current course of events.

A few moments later, Snape reappears, sneering. "You really are thick, Potter. Did you not think to follow us?"

Flushing sheepishly, Harry follows his Professor.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A disappointed McGonagall is an unpleasant person to be around. Draco, of course, gets to weasel his way out of such an experience, as he was currently in the infirmary, no doubt milking the attention he was to receive.

After being relentlessly drilled with remarks about how _irresponsible _and _short-sighted _he could be, Minerva seems satisfied when he finally says, "I'm sorry, but I didn't want to end up like him."

Suddenly the door behind him creaks, footsteps interrupting their conversation.

"Don't think you've gotten out of punishment for this, Harry," McGonagall warned, as Snape entered the chamber.

"Oh, please, don't stop your lecturing because of my interference," Snape drawled, eyes lighting up in hopes of seeing Hogwarts' Golden Boy finally get suspended, or even better, expelled; except he remembered why he had come to McGonagall and frowned.

The woman simply waved his remark away. "Now, Severus, is Mr. Malfoy suitably settled?"

Snape scowls at Harry. "He's in a fit, it seems. Asking for Mr. Potter, himself."

McGonagall frowns. "I think I need to accompany you, Harry. This seems a bit more serious than I initially thought,"

Meanwhile, Draco, utterly _pissed _at the fact that his vision has narrowed again and that the voices are attacking, roiled at the hands holding him down, straining but not making much progress. And then, like a light's been switched on, his vision expands and slowly begins to sharpen.

Malfoy turns his head slightly, seeing the messy-haired brunette beside him. He pretends to not see him.

"Well, Severus, I can give him a few potions to help the mess he's done to his throat, and maybe speed up the healing on his head, and perhaps some paste for those bruises of his, but that's all I can really do at the moment."

At Snape's approval, Draco is forced to drink a particularly bitter fluid, a twist in his expression as he takes it.

"I suppose," Minerva says, "we can wait for _their _explanations later. It seems we have a few of our own to make, don't we, Severus?"

She turns to leave, but then looks at Harry again and says warningly, "Don't think I've forgotten about your punishment, Mr. Potter. Stop smirking and come along, Severus."

The two adults leave, robs swishing dramatically as they left.

Out of eyeshot of authority, Draco shoots Harry a bemused look, clearly pleased at the idea of Harry in trouble. The boy in question just scowls back.

There's a tense moment, one in which Harry has the urge to wipe that slimy little smirk off Malfoy's face but knowing there'd be hell to pay if he did, and Malfoy clearly knowing so and baiting him further. It's irritating, Harry snarls to himself, how Malfoy can get under his skin _without _voice.

What he doesn't realize, though, is that it means he and Malfoy know each other better than they think.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The first thing that Draco says, pausing between hurried bites of soup, is, "Can you fix my hair, Madame Pomfrey? It's so _ghastly." _

His voice is rough, musky—something that causes an odd sensation in the center of Harry's chest. The arrogance and snippiness is still there, however, which causes him to shake the feeling away.

"That's hardly our first priority," says Madame Pomfrey, staring at him in surprise.

Draco looks positively murderous. "Do you _really _expect me to sit here with this mess atop my head? _Really?" _The final word draws out in a whinge.

Madame Pomfrey just sighs, shaking her head. "I'll see what I can do, Mr. Malfoy." She disappears for a moment, in search of a possible potion that would fit his request.

A smug grin quickly settles on his pale features, and he returns to his supper. The lighting in the infirmary must be horrendous, because the gaunt cheekbones cause garish shadows when he smirks, or sneers, or does anything with those lips of his. It's the first time Harry really sees that Malfoy is sick, and it frightens him a little. Draco's near-death experience isn't the source as much as the very real reminder of what could have happened to _him. _

Harry is secretly, selfishly, thankful.

"Malfoy," says Harry, more in surprise than contempt, "How can you just pretend that this isn't happening? That what's happening to _you _isn't happening? I mean, look at you!"

Draco just sneers at him. "Just because we're stuck together changes nothing, understand, _Potter?_"

Stung, Harry recoils, green eyes blazing with anger. The least the git could do was be a bit _thankful, _after all. Still, Harry reckoned he shouldn't be too surprised. It was _Malfoy. _

"Now, you're going to have to let me look at those cuts of yours before I let you anywhere near a hair-enriching potion." Says Madame Pomfrey, as she approaches him.

With a sneer, Draco allows the older women to touch his skull, her fingers lightly running across each dried speck of blood. She clucks at the more severe one, using tweezers to pull out debris.

"Ow!" snaps Malfoy, whipping his head away from her, "Do you think you could be a bit more gentle?"

"I barely touched you!" Madame Pomfrey scolds, applying an antiseptic, forgetting to mention that it would burn.

So, Draco, predictably, whined.

Harry rolled his eyes. He could be such an obvious _bender _sometimes. Not that he was willing to share this opinion, by any means.

Harry watches as Madame Pomfrey frowns, touching the boy's head gentler, this time, fingertips lightly smoothing white hair back. After a few tense and quiet moment, she lifts her hands away, and looks at him, motherly stare in her eyes, "Mr. Malfoy, I will fix the mess they've done, but until those wounds of yours heal, your hair is going to have to grow the old fashioned way."

Draco snarls at her, and she snaps, before he can utter a word, "Or I could leave you to your _own _devices, Mr. Malfoy."

He pouts, but wisely chooses not to comment.

Later, in the shadows of the infirmary, Draco stares at the wretched ceiling again, huffing for the fifty-third time that night. "Fixing the mess" consisted of making the strands of hair as even as possible. There were still visible bald spots, and Draco was not pleased.

Later, when he falls asleep, Harry whispers, only loud enough for him to hear, "_It doesn't look that bad, Malfoy." _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Waking up in the infirmary was always odd, particularly when one was half-asleep. Yawning, Harry left the cot to use the small restroom across the room.

The door clicked quietly, and whilst in the process of emptying his bladder, he cracked his neck, impatiently waiting until he could return to bed.

When Harry turned on the tap to wash his hands, a loud sound erupted behind him, against the door. The doorknob squeaked frantically, and he rolled his eyes. "All right! Give me a second!"

A squinting Draco Malfoy stood there, holding the door frame, breathing heavily. Slowly, his eyes opened again, revealing terrified grey orbs.

"Don't," Malfoy whispered, "close the door."

"Sorry," Harry apologized, bewildered. The taller boy hit him again, frowning.

"The doors count as a barrier, you big oaf. Get it?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't hear anything."

"Which explains why _you're _like that and _I'm _like this," Draco seethed, "Honestly, do you ever have bad luck?"

"Malfoy—"

"Just don't leave the fucking room, alright?" he snapped, stalking off to his cot, shadow limbs echoing his movement on the floor.

Harry sighed, wondering why he couldn't just snap at Malfoy as easily as the aforementioned boy did to him. He knew the answer, and immediately wished it wasn't true.

Something about the snarky blonde's current state made him feel bad, made him want to try and help. Malfoy would say that was his inner Gryffindor, and to kindly fuck off.

Could he be stuck with anyone worse?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Snape sweeps into the infirmary the next day, during breakfast, he ignores Harry and tells Draco that his things were waiting for him in a single room, and that he could retire there at any point during the current day.

Harry wonders which one of them will have to share the new information that they discovered last night. Malfoy glances at him, clearly not choosing to volunteer.

So Harry takes the cheap shot. "Actually, we discovered something interesting last night. Why don't you tell Professor Snape, Malfoy?" The beaming smile he adds at the end of his suggestion only furthers the scowl on the blonde's face.

"If _he," _Malfoy makes sure to add as much accusation into his tone as possible, "closes a door behind him, it presents a barrier. And the noise is no longer cancelled out. This also seems to apply after a certain amount of distance."

The professor states at Harry, frowning. "You've gotten yourself in quite the mess again, haven't you, Potter?"

"It's not my fault!" This statement seems to fall on deaf ears. Snape lets out a long, withering sigh.

"Fine. I will see to it that there are _two _beds in that room, Mr. Malfoy. Now do try not to maim each other too much. Is that understood?"

He gestures for the two boys to follow him, and Harry pretends not to notice how slow the usually cocky Slytherin is walking. The boy matches his gait, and Draco looks up, sneering at the closeness of their bodies. He doesn't say anything though, and Harry decides he will accept small blessings.

Snape is at the door for a good few minutes, staring at the two students with scorn.

"What, are you a gimp, Potter? Surely you can walk faster than that!"

It's a Malfoy thing, Harry decided. Causing humiliation gave him power, and the brunette was not having any of his shit today.

"I can," he whispers, and walks away, gliding past the blonde easily.

The quiet rage reflected in Malfoy's eyes, as he worked to walk faster, made Harry uncomfortable. It wasn't like he took hours, but his stride was a good five seconds shorter than Harry's. This does not seem to console Draco very much, judging by the red tips of his ears and the scowl on his face.

The doorway is plain, no picture in place. Snape unlocks it with a key.

"No one is going to be able to open this door without the specific key," Snape drawls, standing before them, "We will know when there are visitors, and how long they stay." A warning glance sweeps across their faces, curtly. "We will also be consulting the help of an Auror within the next few days, so you would do well to have a better way of describing your…situation. I will return with Potter's supplies later. There is a house elf who will fetch you food at mealtimes."

It's a nice room, certainly large enough for the both of them. They were currently in the common room, which consisted of a table and a few lounge chairs, a fireplace crackling nearby. Two doorways peeked out from the other side of the room.

Draco stays silent until Snape leaves. Harry wanders over to the two doorways. One bedroom, one bathroom. Great.

"If you pull that shite on me again, Potter, mark my words, I'll have you killed before you can beg," Draco hissed, eyes burning.

"Malfoy," Harry says, with a sigh, "it's obvious we're going to have to live together for a few days at least. Why don't we call a truce?"

A cruel, almost painful, sneer settles on Draco's face. "I have no interest in ever creating a truce with _you, _Potter, and I would advise you to stay out of my way."

He whipped past the shorter boy, pulling off his robes—revealing the loose button up shirt and trousers beneath—and kicked off his shoes, proceeding to crawl under the covers, back to the boy staring at him.

The bedroom was very Slytherin. The comforter, black, with emerald vine patters, shimmered under the light. The curtains displayed a similar pattern. Stepping further into the room, Harry realized they weren't _vines, _but snakes.

Harry scoffed. Of course.

"Christ, Potter, I can hear you breathing like some bloody _creeper. _Quiet, will you?"

Harry reaches to close the door, and Malfoy, clearly skilled in the art of mindreading, snaps, "Don't close the door!"

"I wasn't going to. Bloody wanker," Harry lies, scowling. He looks around the room again, and wonders if two beds can really fit into this one room. Malfoy would probably be just fine with him sleeping on the floor. Childishly, he sticks his tongue out at the motionless boy, feeling pleased when he has no fancy retort.

His slow, steady breaths suddenly make Harry feel awkward, as if he were interfering during an incredibly intimate moment. He chooses to sit in the chair closest to the bedroom.

Just in case.


	6. Chapter 6

He's sitting in a field, watching the clouds go by. His hands run across the stems of flowers, the scent of fresh cut grass faint in the air. The heat beats down on his skin, curling lazily around his legs, arms, and torso like a charm. If he had to stay here forever, Draco doesn't think he'd mind at all.

A unicorn comes out of seemingly nowhere, its galloping echoing against the silence, a loud neigh warning of its impending arrival. Upon reaching the previously relaxed Slytherin, it promptly jabs its horn into his shoulder.

"Wake up!"

Draco recoils.

"Wake up!" it neighs again, prodding his arm.

"Get offa me, you stupid unicorn!" Malfoy snaps, jolting up with a bleary-eyed scowl. His hair was flattened on one side.

Harry merely blinks at him in confusion for a moment, and then hands him a tray. "Er, the house elf brought you this."

Draco snatches it wordlessly, scowl still in place.

"You dream about unicorns?" Harry queries, eyebrows lifted in amusement. 

"Shut up, Potter." He grumbles, biting into an apple.

Draco looked around the room, and noted a second bed with a trunk resting on the mattress. He looks at the boy sitting in front of him, and sneers. "You don't snore, do you? If so, you're sleeping in the bathroom."

"I don't," Harry says, chewing thoughtfully on a roll, and then grins. "But _you _do."

"I do no such thing!" Draco says pretentiously, nose slightly tipped into the air.

Harry shrugs. "I'm used to Ron's snoring anyway. It won't bother me."

"I _don't _snore, Potter!"

The boy ignores this and motions to the leftover chicken on his plate. "You want this?"

"I don't need your handouts."

Harry just sighs and shoves the food on his rival's plate without a word.

"Hey! I—"

"I'm not listening to you." He informs helpfully as he leaves the bedroom.

Draco grumbles about being stuck with the irritating Gryffindor but stuffs the chicken in his mouth quickly before Harry comes back in.

Being without food for a while makes one realize how good it actually is.

But he still didn't need Potter's help. Not at all.

Shortly after their dinner, Draco was fast asleep. Harry found himself staring at the Slytherin while he was in such a state. It was…odd, to say the least. He was used to snappish retorts, cruel mockery, and glares from across the room.

This Malfoy did none of these things. Harry wondered what he was like around others. Was he nice? A mental snort echoed in his head. Malfoy was never nice.

Still, the boy was an enigma. And beneath the frustration and anger he held for him, Harry was secretly intrigued.

The haunting look he saw that day—his eyes like black pools, reflecting fear and pain—that was a side of Malfoy he'd never particularly witnessed. It wasn't cowardice (Harry had seen plenty of that). It showed him Draco Malfoy was, in fact, _human._

And after the spell—after the guilt wracked his brain, and dug a hollow hole into his chest, the screams and the blood permanently burned behind his eyelids—Harry told himself he'd be civil to his rival.

It was the least he could do.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next morning, Snape entered the two boys' common room without a word. He stared at Harry, in that way that made a shiver run up his spine, anxiety fusing to his bones. His fork froze in the air, eggs sliding off and landing with a wet _plop _on the plate below.

Snape curled his lip at that. "Quite the charmer, aren't you, Mr. Potter?"

Draco interrupted the awkward silence, buttoning up his shirt. It hung off of him like Dudley's hand-me-downs hung on Harry. He wonders if Malfoy notices at all. The pale skin gets swallowed up by the fabric, the jagged scars hidden by the shadows.

Harry focuses on his toast.

"Severus," he greets cordially, perching in front of his breakfast tray and busying himself with cutting his food up in small pieces.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape responds, an indecipherable flash of emotion in his eyes as he watches the boy begin to eat, "The Aurors will be here in an hour. I trust you'll be able to ready yourselves by then?"

"Of course," Malfoy says simply, chewing thoughtfully.

Both men seem to be intent on acting as if Harry was not in the room, and they were doing a good job of it. Harry isn't sure if he should feel slighted or relieved.

Severus turns as if to leave, his frown deepening the wrinkles around his mouth. He pauses, looks at his favored pupil. "You know where to find me if your roommate causes any problems."

"Indeed," Malfoy, the little traitor that he is, says, giving him a nod of farewell.

When the professor leaves, Malfoy turns his attention to the scowling boy parallel to him. He pretends to not notice the air of tension around him and says, "So, I'm going to tell you what the story is and _you're _going to follow along with it."

Harry snorts. "You don't scare me, Malfoy. I don't have to listen to you."

The light eyes catch his, a quiet, smoldering storm brewing between them. "All right, Potter. Have it your way," the blonde says smoothly between clenched teeth, "but _don't _blame it on me when everything blows up in your face."

Harry rises, anger unfurling quickly, "It's interesting that you want to work together now, when all you did was mock me before. What do you expect?"

Draco manages a disinterested sniff at him. "I never said I wanted to _work together, _you moron."

"I don't know why I even _bother," _Harry growls, leaning in close, "It seems like you don't care that _everyone _hates you, and here I am trying to be _civil _and you treat me like shite!"

"I never asked you for your help," Malfoy utters, eyes darkening, "so how is that a surprise, Golden Boy?"

"You're right," Harry snaps, as Malfoy quickly recovers from the surprise of the statement, "_Murderers _aren't very good at teaching kindness, are they? It's no wonder you're just like-"

The cracking of bone on bone fills the silence. Malfoy's hand quickly begins to swell, and Harry was trying to stifle his groans and keep the blood coming from his mouth away from the floor.

He disappears into the bathroom, slamming the door on purpose.

"You _bastard!" _Malfoy howls as he strains to get the door open. Harry barely needs to fight back.

He ignored the whinging, the scraping against the door, and smirked, eyes hollow, the bruise against his jawline forming quickly.

And then it was silent. His heart dropped to his stomach, and Harry realized how childish and _stupid _the action had been.

"Malfoy—" Harry calls out, creaking the door open.

A sickening, mirthless chuckle fills the ominous emptiness a few moments later.

"Happy now, Saint Potter?" asks Malfoy, his eyelids slowly opening again, shallow breathing creaking against his ribs.

Harry looks at him, still angry, but the guilt begins clawing at the hole. "I-I'm sorry."

And he _is _sorry. Not for what he said, not in the slightest.

He's sorry they're in the situation to begin with, and he's sorry he has to see these different sides of Malfoy that sometimes made it so hard to _just _hate him, like Malfoy hated Harry.

"I don't want your apologies," Malfoy spat out, slinking away to the bedroom, presumably to nurse his wounded pride.

Harry just sighed, and began cleaning the blood off of his face.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The Auror was a middle-aged witch with black hair. It flowed around her freely, her dark skin taut against her face. It almost looks painful. The second her eyes catch his, though, he knows she's much smarter than she let on. And that particular trait was not going to be in his favor today.

"I'm Helen," she says, and doesn't bother with small talk.

She settles into one of the chairs calmly, eyeing his jaw silently. Her red lips pursed as she watched him. It was disconcerting, how she chose to simply stare for a good minute instead of beginning with her questions.

"Ran into a wall, right?" she cracks, amusement crinkling around her eyes.

"Er, right." Harry mutters awkwardly, looking at his hands intently, "Erm, how would you like—I mean, what do you want me to tell you?"

"Just start at the beginning, Harry." He almost asks how she knows his name, and then mentally slaps himself for the thought.

"The beginning?" he echoed densely.

"When did this…particular situation occur? Go as far back as you can remember."

Harry lapsed into silence. It was a simple question. And he _knew _when it started.

It had started when the dementor had infiltrated his senses. He hadn't said anything then, but when he awoke, there was an odd feeling in his gut—like a piece had been removed. He'd ignored it then, thinking he was just shaken, thinking he'd just imagined it.

But it was still there. That hole. And slowly apathy and anger and guilt had all dogged him like chains wrapped round his neck. With the death of Dumbledore, and Sirius, it was hardly surprising that he was depressed.

Except it wasn't depression, and he was sure of it. There was quite literally a _hole _somewhere inside of him and it'd taken a while to deplete the things that gave him joy and passion and excitement, but they were now most certainly gone and Harry knew he should have said something earlier.

But he didn't.

And then—_that _night. The night he'd cornered Malfoy, with his broken, sad eyes, the fear radiating off of him and filling up the room—that night was the night the guilt tightened around his body.

The hate came later.

He was standing there, watching Dumbledore, feeling the wrongness of the situation drown him, seeing his headmaster's eyes warn him, beg him, to stay quiet.

And Malfoy—_Malfoy knew. _He had to know, his father's mission was to kill Dumbledore.

A small part of him whispered, somewhere, _Maybe he didn't know. _

The bile and bitterness rose in his throat like venom. He had to have known.

Part of him wanted to kill the boy, or at least scream at him until his throat was raw and he couldn't care about it anymore. And part of him wanted to believe he'd had no part in it at all. That _he _was just as surprised as everyone else. Because the Malfoy he'd encountered in the bathroom that night—that Malfoy told him that they had far more things in common than he'd ever known.

And as silly as it was…

Harry wanted someone to understand.

"Harry," Helen asked abruptly, jarring him out of his thoughts, seemingly aware of her tone and added, "Are you all right?"

"He's fine," a clipped tone answered for him. Harry twisted around, his bewildered eyes meeting Malfoy's icy ones.

Malfoy plopped down beside him, and Harry's eyes nearly bulged out at the closeness of his rival.

"We had a nice chat about this earlier," Malfoy said, a charming smile stretching across his face.

"We did?" Harry whispered, and only a received a jab in the stomach in response.

"The thing is," Malfoy said smoothly, "we really don't know why we're stuck together like this."

"You're _mental!" _Harry whispered in his ear.

"I'm sure Professor _Snape_ has clued you in on some things. We both heard the voices, sure, and somehow when we're together it just cancels out. It's odd, I guess, but we're just lucky we haven't gotten any worse, you know?"

"You _guess?" _Harry hisses.

"Right," the female Auror drawls, in a very similar fashion as the Slytherin next to him, "The fact that you're a Malfoy and have a Death Eater for a father hasn't given you _any _ideas?"

"True," Malfoy says, barely containing his snappish retort, "my father has made some mistakes, but I knew very little of his activities with the Death Eaters. It wouldn't surprise me that perhaps something was aimed at Potter, and perhaps bound me as a side effect, but you have my _word _that neither of us were involved in its making,"

Harry wonders about whether he's telling the truth or not.

"I didn't come here to accuse you of anything," Helen replied coolly, "I simply came here to see if I could help you."

"Right. Well," Malfoy shrugs, "Sorry."

Harry's never seen Malfoy ever apologise before.

Helen looks directly at Harry then, knowing there's more to the story and _wanting _to call him out on it but decides not to.

She knows when a lost cause is apparent. Helen bids them farewell and leaves, her unspoken words still lingering in the room like smoke.

"What in the hell was that?!" Harry says, not even waiting after the door shuts.

"That," Malfoy says snidely, moving away from him quickly, "was me saving your sorry arse,"

"It didn't need saving!"

"Wrong, Potter. You see, you seem to think anyone with an ounce of what appears to be kindness, or morality, or whatever other sickening trait you so adore, is automatically trustworthy."

"She was an Auror!"

"Really?"

Harry can only manage to sputter at that.

"Okay, let's try again. Did she present any _proof _that she was an Auror?"

Harry paused. "Well…no. I just assumed…"

"You really need to stop _assuming." _

"You really need to stop being so paranoid," Harry shot back.

"You could use some of it, you moron!"

Draco begins to pace back and forth. "I am telling you now, Potter, that there is very little chance that an Auror would come into this room unescorted by a professor or other authority figure. Did you forget about the key?"

Harry grudgingly had to admit Malfoy had a point.

"Okay, let's say I buy into your little suspense story. Who was it?"

"Snape, of course."

Harry just stares at him. "You're mental, Malfoy. You're his favorite student!"

Draco just shakes his head at him. "You don't get it, do you? Sev means well, he really does, but _he _thinks we're better off in the Psych ward than here! Do you not remember his prior attempt to get me sent back?"

Harry realized in horror, "If it was him, that that means…Snape was nice to me!"

"Of course he was. Because you're a gullible moron and feed off rainbows and happy thoughts," Malfoy huffed.

Harry only threw a pillow at the boy's retreating form.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry was curled up on one of the chairs, half-dozing while listening to the crackling fire when a loud, intrusive _thump _made him topple onto the floor in surprise. Books and parchment greeted him on the floor, and their arrival was not something he was pleased about.

"How graceful," intoned a familiar voice. "This is all the coursework you've missed over the last few days. Don't dawdle, Potter, the Headmistress will be checking on you this evening." There was a pause, and Snape let out a contented sigh. "Oh, yes. I almost forgot."

Harry was going to ask what, but Malfoy's shriek interrupted him. It was alarmingly high-pitched. Harry made a mental note to goad him about that later and rose, sighing, heading toward the room.

"Oh," was all Harry could utter at the sight. Furious grey eyes rose to meet his, a red blush blooming beneath Malfoy's usual pallor.

The room was covered in pages of script, pieces of parchment, and books. A particularly large book, balancing on the crown of Draco's head, slipped and plopped down somewhere behind him.

"Snape floo-called." Harry said, fighting the smile that was threatening to spill across his face.

"You don't say?" snapped Malfoy huffily, crossing his arms childishly. He began shoving the loose parchment around him to the floor, which only furthered his anger.

He really was a spoilt prat, Harry thought, but a really _amusing _spoilt prat.

Harry lifted one of the pages closest to him and looked at it. Notes, it seemed, about Runes. The information it held was not terribly interesting, so Harry let it drift back toward the floor.

"Maybe it was an accident?" Harry suggested, simply trying to lessen the slightly alarming panting that the blonde was currently exhibiting.

Malfoy's sharp eyes slid slowly from the general mess to his own, a murderous glint dancing in the orbs. "Snape," he uttered lowly, "does not make mistakes."

Harry wasn't sure what to say, but Malfoy seemed content with filling the silence on his own.

"He's such a _child _sometimes! If things don't go his way, he _has _to get something out of it! Bloody Slytherin," Draco's bed was clear now, and he lay back, glaring at the ceiling like it had been the cause for the whole mess in the first place.

And now you know how I feel, Harry thought in glee.

"Funny, I think the same of you."

Draco shot up to a sitting position and stared at him very intently for a moment.

"First of all, drawling is _my _thing, and you're not allowed to steal it, you unoriginal git," he pretended not to see the exasperated expression on the boy's face, "and secondly, I wouldn't drown a poor, sickly boy in his late coursework at all."

"Unless it was a _Gryffindor _student, of course," stated Harry dryly, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy smile.

"Stop that!" commanded Draco suddenly, looking quite perturbed.

Baffled, Harry looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Bantering is something _friends_ do," he hissed distastefully, looking as if the concept really disgusted him, "something we're definitely not."

"Not if it's malicious bantering," answered Harry, feeling an indescribable feeling rise through his veins.

Draco pondered this for a moment. "Right. I hate you, Scarhead. Now please go weep morosely elsewhere." He made a waving motion, as to dismiss him from their conversation.

Malfoy seemed to not realize that he'd _actually _agreed with Harry.

Pretentious git, thought Harry.

"Your retorts are sorely lacking, Malfoy," Harry said instead, and turned to leave.

He didn't see the slighted expression on the blonde's face.

"What do you expect, I have you for influence," called Malfoy in response.

"Point," Harry whispered under his breath, smirking slightly.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The fact that the two boys had gone longer than five minutes without trading insults was not lost on Harry. He had to suppress the urge to march back into that bedroom and demand, what, exactly, was Draco doing that was so much more important than acknowledging his existence.

Then he hit himself with his Potions text for the thought. Because granted, while he was already going a _bit _mental from being locked in the same room for the past few days, it was hardly enough to start _wanting _Malfoy of all people to…_speak _to him. Despite this logical train of thought, there was still the irrational side of Harry who was yearning for human interaction.

It wasn't weird at _all _that he wanted Malfoy to notice him. He was the only other one in the room after all. These thoughts did not soothe Harry in the slightest, and he decided that needed to change immediately.

But then he realized he was stuck in a room. With a curse that bound him to Malfoy. And if he left, one of them would probably jump off a tower and neither of them really wanted to be the cause of suicide, he supposed.

Oh, Merlin, he was really getting hysterical, wasn't he?

The impulse that had been crawling in his chest for a good half hour or so finally got the best of him, and he shoved his books and parchment away, the chair screeching as it raked across the floor.

And he went to the bedroom, greeted by the gaunt blonde who was currently entertaining himself by burning bits of parchment while on his back. It was appalling how he made laziness seem so eloquent.

"Malfoy," Harry all but barked out, "I'm bored and I won't stand for it _anymore." _

His Slytherin counterpart sat up, raising one perfect blonde brow, looking positively tickled at Harry's desperate behavior.

"And what do you suggest _I _do about it, Potter?"

Harry's teeth clenched at the smugness in his tone. "I don't know. But I need to get away from this place and seeing as how you're stuck with me, you're going to tag along,"

Malfoy gaped for a moment, and recovered with a sneer. "I don't take orders, especially from bloody _Gryffindors." _

The aforementioned Gryffindor ignored this. "When's the last time you've been flying, Malfoy?"

"What does it matter?" he muttered petulantly, crossing his twiggy arms across his chest.

"Like you want to stay here any more than I do," Harry muttered darkly, eyes flashing briefly.

"Fine, Potter, I will entertain your childish little _whim," _he tipped his nose at the word, "but you _owe _me."

Harry sighed. Of course Malfoy would never admit he agreed with him. But hell, at this point, he'd take it. Even if he _was _at the blonde's mercy.

He held an index finger up in response, telling the blonde to wait for a moment as he fetched his cloak.

Malfoy seemed vaguely curious. "What is that?"

"It's our get-out-of-jail-free card," he said.

Draco wrinkled his nose. "What?"

Ignoring the blonde's query, he grabbed his arm—gently, since he'd noticed the ever-present bruises—and tugged him off the bed. 

Malfoy tugged his arm back, feeling slightly…uncomfortable with the other boy touching him. He was used to spitting out retorts, not mutually going along with whatever meager camaraderie that had occurred between them.

It was even more awkward when Harry 's shoulder brushed his as the cloak covered their bodies. He sagely pressed a finger to his lips as the door creaked open, and they made their way out into the halls of the school.

There were people about, and Draco was, on quite a few occasions, quite sure they'd get caught. But Harry pressed on, and no one noticed.

A first year was heading toward Harry, who's line of sight was elsewhere, and Malfoy shoved him against the wall, his chest pressed against the younger boy's for a moment as the girl walked past.

Draco pretended not to see the look of surprise and eventual gratefulness in the emerald eyes.

They were able to get out into the darkening evening air without incident. The fresh air that entered his lungs was refreshing, and Draco was glad Potter had suggested an illegal escape from their quarters.

The flying was even better, and he'd wondered how long he'd been drowning in his own mental torture, because Draco had forgotten what it felt like to fly. The weight on his shoulders lightened, and against his conscious will to seem blank and emotionless, he smiled.

Worst of all, _Potter _noticed. And smiled back.

Draco quickly frowned.

Harry shook his head and headed further up into the sky.

The blonde had been hoping Saint Potter would allow them to enjoy their little field trip without attempting some sort of cutesy heart-to-heart, but this was not the case.

He was flying alongside him now, and said, "This is nice. I've missed it."

Draco just grunted in vague agreement.

Harry cocked his head, noting the slight tremor his rival had coursing through his body.

"Are you cold?"

"No, I just find clouds to be so very terrifying," stated the Slytherin git dryly.

"Would you like to go inside?"

"No!" His response was a bit too quick, the alarm evident in his voice, and Draco kicked himself for it.

"Okay," Harry said, "I could lend you my robe, if you want."

Draco sneered. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That…stupid hero complex of yours. _Saving _people. Don't try it with me."

Harry bristled. "Is it really so bad that I want to be civil with you? We have to live together, after all."

"We hate each other," Draco pointed out lamely.

Harry shrugged, staring out at the setting sun. "I don't hate you. I dislike you sometimes, especially when you're being an arse, but I don't hate you."

Damn it. They were getting dangerously close to the point of heart-to-hearts and Draco didn't like it one bit.

"Whatever, Potter."

Harry snorted. "You're usually so eloquent. Running out of retorts?"

Draco just stayed silent, choosing to stare at the purple bruise on Harry's face. Harry noticed, and self-consciously touched the tender skin.

"For someone consisting of just skin and bones, your punch was rather powerful."

Malfoy huffed in a mixed feeling of pride and annoyance. "Of course. I'm not a sodding _girl, _you moronic prat."

"Funny," Harry said cheekily, "You sort of look like one. What, with the constant preening of your _hair _and admiring yourself in _mirrors…_"

Draco inwardly winces, reminded of the horrid state his hair is currently in. Nonetheless, he still recovers.

"Confidence is not a bad thing, Potter. You should try it, sometime."

Harry scoffed. "Confidence and arrogance are two very different things. Now come on, we should get back before our charming zookeepers find us missing."

This newfound sarcasm was no doubt the influence of Draco himself, but he says nothing. It was rather…entertaining. And he's rather cold, after all.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The room is warm, and Draco thanks the heat that was currently warming his bones. He plops onto one of the chairs languidly, pulling on his typical Malfoy façade like a comfortable glove.

A cup of tea nudges its way into his hand, and Draco looks up at Harry. He hadn't heard him call out for the tea. Odd.

He takes it without comment and sips it, surprised to notice that it's exactly how he likes it—and Draco wonders how Potter had stumbled onto that bit of information. _Very, very interesting, _he muses, levitating a blanket over, wrapping himself up in it comfortably.

The Headmistress promptly enters, ruining the sense of calm that was curling up around him. He frowned, and swallowed the impulse to cattily mention _why, _exactly, were the authority figures here so opposed to knocking.

Harry peeks out from the loo curiously, and the offset expression on his face was there before he could even feign respectful pleasantries.

McGonagall just looks at Draco, wordlessly commenting on his current position, one she no doubt assumed of laziness and reminiscent of his spoiled upbringing. It's evident in her eyes.

Draco scowls at his tea.

Harry enters the room again, choosing to stand beside the boy he's supposed to loathe, and this does not escape the woman's attention. She, thankfully, decides to let it go.

"I hope you enjoyed your little excursion," she murmured in disappointment, "because it will no doubt be common knowledge by tomorrow. I had been hoping to keep your presence here low-key while we figured out what to do about your…situation."

Draco wants to comment on how she as conveniently decided to ignore them for the time being, but a brief stare from _Potter _snarkily suggests otherwise.

"When will we see an Auror or Healer?" Harry asks.

"Soon." She seems hesitant in sharing any other news, and Harry finds it irritating.

"How soon?" He presses.

"I don't think you understand the sensitivity of this matter, Mr. Potter," the woman says, "do you know what would happen if the wrong person got the wind of The-Boy-Who-Lived and _heir _of the Malfoy fortune, bound together?"

Draco wonders why she even bothers trying to avoid mentioning he was related to a murderer, and more importantly, the murderer of Hogwarts' _precious _Dumbledore.

If there was one nickname Harry hates the most, it was the one she just used.

An awkward silence ensues, and Draco chooses to actually say something. "I certainly hope you aren't allowing the issue of my father's actions to cloud your judgment," he says dryly. It's a bold statement, but Draco has never been known for tact. McGonagall actually seethes at the implication, and narrows her eyes at him.

It's apparently no secret that she dislikes him as well.

"I am doing all that I can to solve this problem as efficiently as possible."

It's an utter lie, and Harry is sort of appalled at the complete change of character in his Headmistress.

"I will send notice of when someone can come in to assist you both."

And then she just leaves.

Harry is pissed. "The…the _nerve…" _

The hand that runs through the dark mop of hair is somehow enticing, and Draco frowns at the thought.

"I'm going to take a shower," Draco murmurs absently, and disappears before Harry can continue his rant.

There is an agreement it seems—the door had to be open a crack to prevent the curse from activating again. It was simple—if the light was on, it meant one of them was currently using it, and that the other would have to wait.

When Draco exits, he dries his head quickly, loathing the way the fabric touched his exposed skull. He looks at himself in the mirror, and hates what he sees. Sunken, dull eyes. Sharp cheekbones protruding from gaunt cheeks. When he smiles, his cracked lips split and his lower lip begins to bleed.

He wipes the blood away in irritation, wraps the towel around his waist, and walks out of the bathroom.

Harry looks up as the floorboards creak, signifying Draco's arrival. His eyes immediately trail down to his chest, where the rose scars scrape across the boy's pale skin.

Draco doesn't seem to notice, as he's kicking away the leftover pieces of parchment and digging around for a fresh set of clothes.

"You can use the restroom now, if you want," Draco says. His hands shake slightly as he pulls a pair of boxers on over the towel, removing it as necessary after. It hangs off his hips, exposing far too much extra skin. At the unexpected silence, he looks up into the green eyes. Draco suddenly feels very naked.

"I didn't know…the spell, I mean, I just, I didn't know it would hurt you that much."

Malfoy grimaces at the babbling, and he chooses to focus on pulling on his clothing before responding.

"It's fine," he says dismissively.

"No, it's not," Harry whispers, and it's so tortured Draco can't even hide the surprise on his face.

"I'm sorry."

Those two words somehow fill the room, causing Draco to feel suffocated and trapped.

"Potter," he says wearily, "Save it. I'm very tired, and would like to get to sleep at some point."

Harry flinches at the response, and leaves the room much like a kicked puppy would. Draco tells himself it doesn't bother him at all.

The twinge in his chest says otherwise.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry found himself exiled to the common room again, and he slumped onto one of the large armchairs. _The arsehole, _he thought, _the least he could do is accept my bloody apology. _Harry told himself it wouldn't matter—they were always going to be Malfoy and Potter, whether they managed a half-arsed civility while living together or not. The logic he was using did nothing for the seething anger and disappointment currently coursing through him, though, and he slammed one fist against the armrest in frustration.

His limbs twitched, and Harry proceeded to pace back and forth in front of the fire, ruminating over the blonde who was hiding from him—Malfoy would deny it, of course, but he was definitely hiding—playing their brief conversation over and over again.

"_It's fine." _Grey eyes staring at him almost blankly. Always carefully guarded, every action calculated seconds in advance. He strained to fit the mold his father and everyone else had assumed of him, and it must have been exhausting.

Harry knew what it was like to be tired of everyone else's expectations—perhaps better than anyone else at Hogwarts. Even with animosity and rivalry keeping them apart, Harry reckoned he knew Draco Malfoy better than anyone else.

Draco was getting sick of this bedroom. He heard the pacing that Potter was engaging in, and found an odd sense of comfort in the sound. It was far too quiet in this place, anyway.

_Stupid Potter, _he sighed, _if he knew what was good for him, he'd leave it be. _Draco remembered, though, that Potter had an irritating hero complex and seemed to get himself in trouble and danger at every turn. His legendary adventures at Hogwarts never went unnoticed—he was Harry bloody Potter, after all.

There was a prophecy. It had been set long before Draco or Harry had even existed, and there was no changing it, whether they wanted to be in the position or not.

Draco was going to be an up-and-coming Death Eater, his life most likely lost during the battle. Perhaps even at the hand of Harry Potter—the knight in shining armor. And Potter—Potter was going to go on, the epitome of perfection personified, and have tons of little red-haired children with the stupid Weaselette. Draco was only going to be remembered in spite—as the horrid traitor related to the murderer of precious Dumbledore.

There was really no sense in getting attached to each other, Draco told himself, if all that was going to change the second the curse was lifted. It was like getting attached to a puppy that was going to die anyway. He _refused _to get attached to the stupid git—he was an annoying Gryffindor lion and that was all there was to it.

Voices interrupted his brooding.

"_Ron?" _sputtered Potter from the other room, _"Hermione?" _

Draco rolled his eyes. Always the eloquent one, that Potter.

"Shut your mouth, Harry," Hermione said gently, "or bugs are going to nest in there."

"B-but…how did you—"

Ron waved the marauder's map in his face with a proud grin, "Come on, Harry. We're your best mates. We'd find you eventually anyhow." He looked around the room, impressed at the comfortable quarters.

He grabbed his friends into a sloppy hug, the ache of their absence suddenly quelled. He released them a moment later, a pleased smile on his lips.

"Nice place, Harry. Even if you _do _have to share it with that Slytherin git," Ron murmured, plopping into one of the chairs with a comfortable sigh.

Hermione, on the other hand, couldn't be bothered to care about his current living arrangements. She sighed. "You and Malfoy have a fight?" she said, in reference to the bruise on his jaw. Harry just shrugged. Hermione tried to use a healing spell and frowned when it didn't work. She decided to get right to it.

She looked at him pensively, brows furrowed in slight confusion. "Harry, why are you even here? I can understand why they'd put _Malfoy _under lock and key," she made a face as she said his name, "but you?"

Harry sighed. "You might want to take a seat, Hermione. This is going to take a while."

In the other room, as he was shamelessly eavesdropping, Draco's ears pricked at that. He never _had _heard Potter's side of things. This was going to be interesting.

"I'm bound to him through a curse." Harry said, as she took his advice and sat down.

Ron sputtered for a moment, then rage crossed his features, "Figures that prat would try something like this," he hissed angrily.

Draco huffed. Like he'd ever _voluntarily _bind himself to bloody Potter.

Hermione piped up, "Is that it, Harry? He'd certainly be able to, his family's been involved in Dark Arts for ages,"

"It's not his fault. It's mine."

Draco inwardly smiled at that. _Well, well. Looks like Potter isn't the innocent little boy you all peg him for. _

Harry continued before either of his friends could interrupt. "Not intentionally, at least. But…I followed him, that night—do you remember?"

Draco certainly remembered. The glares, the unspoken insults—it had all been evident that night, when word of his fathers' deed had reached the papers.

He hadn't cared about the others, but to see his own _house _join in on the damned hunt—traitors, the whole lot of them.

"I just…I don't know why I followed him, but I did. And we got into it, and I used a spell I read in that book…"

At least he hadn't mentioned Draco had been crying prior to the duel. He wasn't sure if he'd have been able to live that down, if anyone else knew—especially the Mudblood and Weasel.

"I _told _you that book was no good," Hermione said, clearly wanting to remind him of who had been right all along.

Harry seemed to ignore this. "I nearly killed him." It was spoken in a whisper, but the shocked expressions on his friends' faces told him it had been heard.

Then Ron, the boy with the emotional range of a fucking parasite, spoke up. "Would it have been so bad if he did? It's not like anyone wants him around anyway."

"_Ronald!" _hissed Hermione, "he's here too, you know!"

"So?" Ron muttered, not seeing what was so wrong with the death of a future Death Eater in the first place.

"I didn't think much of it, but the day I first encountered the dementor…I just…I didn't feel _right _after."

"How so?" Hermione prodded.

Draco resisted the impulse to snap at her. Like her prodding was really going to get her little Golden Boy to tell the story any faster.

"There was just…it felt like a little _piece _was missing, this little hole," Potter murmured, "and it just kept getting bigger and bigger, like a tear."

"Bugger," Ron said, lips twisted in sympathy.

"Honestly, Ron!" Hermione snapped, "Don't you have anything better to say?"

"It's fine, 'Mione," Harry said, intervening before another squabble could erupt between the two.

"Anyway," Harry said, "Malfoy got sick, I guess, and he just…he got sick, first. I didn't start hearing the noise until later."

Draco sighed. Clearly, he wasn't sure how this story ended.

"And then what happened?" Ron asked, clearly wanting to hear more of the blonde's bad luck.

"And then Malfoy got sent away. Before, when I tried to tutor him—"

"I thought you said he never showed," Hermione interrupted.

"He showed the first time. When I saw him, and we argued—because he's a prat—it was like the noise and that hole never existed."

"So you're saying Malfoy didn't really go mental after all?" Ron asked, a trace of disappointment in his voice.

"How did he get _here, _if he was at St. Mungo's? No one's mentioned his arrival back, and everyone thinks you've gone on a break,"

Draco entered the common room, staring blankly at the gaping expressions of the Golden Trio.

"That would be because," he drawled, "Wonder Boy here decided to kidnap me."

"I didn't kidnap you!" growled Harry, "You hardly went against your will."

"Bloody hell," blurted out Ron, "what happened to your _head?" _

Draco glared at him, a sneer crawling across his emaciated features. He noted Granger's conflicted expression. "Don't tell lies," he snapped, before she could utter a word.

"Harry," Hermione finally said, "let us help you. And, er, Malfoy, I suppose."

"What can _you _do?" growled Draco, who was wavering slightly as he stood, arms crossed. He moved over to the wall, where he could lean against the hard concrete without risk of falling straight on his arse.

"I don't know," she said honestly, "but it can't hurt to try."

Before either Harry or Draco could respond, the door opened with a bang and Snape stood looming above them, looking positively livid.

"One hundred points from Gryffindor," he snarled, "_each, _for going where you shouldn't, and you can count on a detention with _me _later. Get out, and if I hear anything about this around the school, you'll be expelled before you can blink."

Ron and Hermione slinked away, but not before Hermione bravely uttered a farewell to her friend. She got a warning glance for that.

"_Potter," _whispered Snape dangerously, as he moved closer, _"don't think I find you innocent in this little get together, either." _

"They knocked, he answered. We can't go anywhere, I doubt Potter could have really organized any escape plan, nor is he intelligent enough to pull it off." Draco found himself saying, and scowled at the two incredulous stares.

"I'm keeping my eye on you, Potter," Snape uttered finally, after the initial shock of his godson standing up for his rival ebbed away.

And, characteristic of his brooding, strict façade, he left without a farewell and closed the door with a loud slam.

"Um," Harry stuttered, "thanks, I think."

Draco just glanced at him, pretending to be bored, "What you do affects _me, _at the moment, Potter. It would do me no good to have you going off and getting yourself killed in some harebrained scheme." He turned on his heel and returned to the bedroom, which was, unfortunately, still as boring as he had left it.

Harry, to his great chagrin, followed him.

He watched the dark haired boy as he dug around in his trunk, clearly looking for something. Draco was suspicious, wondering if he had some plan after all.

All that was in his hands were books. Draco frowned. That wasn't very entertaining.

He noted the books were non-magical, as the figures on the pages stayed still. There was a cartoonish blonde boy and a tiger, with the words 'Calvin and Hobbes' emblazoned across the top.

"What, pray tell," Draco said, his sneer evident, "are _those, _Potter?"

"Comics, of course," Harry said, the stack of books beside him as he began reading the first one on his lap.

"Comics? _Muggle _comics?" Draco didn't bother to cover up his disdain.

"Muggles are quite good at some things, Malfoy," Harry said calmly, disinterestedly.

The blonde found this very irritating. "I find that hard to believe, Potter, but I suppose growing up in filth makes one accustomed to it."

Harry looked up, raising one brow. "You haven't even read one of these, how do you know if it's filth or not? And _don't _bother telling me that ridiculous excuse about how all muggle items just are."

Noting the unspoken challenge with those words, Draco stalked over and snatched the book out of his lap, perching on the edge of the Gryffindor's bed as he read the first page.

"_How come we play war and not peace?" _asked the tiger, with a small bubble pointing to its head.

"_Too few role models," _answered the boy, who was wearing some sort of odd helmet, the same bubble above his head.

"_I'll be the fearless American defender of liberty and democracy," _the boy—Calvin, Draco assumed—said, and in the next frame: _"…and you can be the loathsome godless communist oppressor."_

Draco wondered how old this boy was, he had quite the vocabulary. _"We're at war, so if you get hit with a dart, you're dead and the other side wins, okay?"_

The blonde frowned, wondering why and how this boy had gotten hold of such deadly darts.More importantly, why was the tiger standing, instead of walking on all fours and devouring his small partner?

The tiger answered, _"Gotcha."_

The next scene consisted of gibberish with one word: _"Go!" _The weapons with the deadly darts were immediately aimed at each other.

The two figures stared at their darts, very much alive. Perhaps they weren't so deadly after all?

"_Kind of a stupid game, isn't it?" _stated the boy finally. Draco hadn't realized he had been smiling as he read the dialogue until he raised his eyes to meet the smug expression on Potter's face.

"Shut up," Draco grumbled, and then asked, "Where did you even get these?"

Harry shrugged. "My cousin didn't want them, so he gave them to me." Harry chose not to mention that all of Dudley's unwanted things ended up in a pile where he resided. "Good, aren't they?" he said, smiling with victory.

Draco just shoved him and returned to his own territory, the book still in his hand.

He pretended not to notice the way Harry's eyes stayed alight as he began reading a different book, his smile poorly concealed.

After finishing the first stolen book, Draco quietly levitated a few more from the stack beside Potter. Harry pretended not to notice, but the smile told him otherwise. They were interrupted when the house elf, whose name Draco couldn't bother to remember, brought them their meal.

"Can I have my books back now?" asked Harry cheekily.

Draco just shoved a piece of his French roll in his mouth and ignored him, turning the next page.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Potter," the blonde Slytherin drawled, "what in the bloody hell are these _sssmores_?"

Harry laughed at the way Draco mutilated the word, and ignored the half-hearted glare. "Suh-mores, Draco. And they're quite good. They consist of roasted marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate."

The boy across the room frowned. "How does one roast marshmallows?"

The stupid git laughed again, his teeth glinting in the light.

"I'll show you." Harry said, rising from his place on his bed. Draco made no movement.

"Well, come on. I won't bite." Harry muttered, exiting the room.

Draco sighed. His curiosity really would land him in trouble one of these days.

A few moments later, Draco found himself sitting crosslegged at the fire, with Harry sitting at the other end of the flaming pit. He took one of the fireplace tools, pushing two of the fluffy sweets on it.

"Some people like to let their marshmallow burn, but I like mine nice and brown," Harry said, biting his lip in concentration as he dodged flame after flame.

Draco found himself entranced not with the way the fire was actually causing a warm brown to rise across the marshmallow, but with _Potter's _face. Something about the concentration on his face was just…so very enticing.

_Enticing? _ Draco thought suddenly, _enticing me to do _what, _exactly? _He refused to allow himself to answer the question.

"Hold up those crackers." Dumbly, the blonde did as he was asked. "Wait, put a piece of chocolate on one side first. Okay, when I put the marshmallow on—"

"I'm not a moron, Potter," Draco snapped, and took one marshmallow with his thumb and index fingers.

Harry just shrugged at the resulting scream. "Should've listened, Malfoy."

He glared as he nursed his finger by sucking on it. Harry found his mouth go dry at the sight, and he wasn't entirely sure why, but he shifted his attention to assembling his own treat and ignored the voice of reason that was attempting to speak to him.

"Well, aren't you going to try it?" he said, around of mouthful of gooey chocolate and marshmallow.

His fair-haired counterpart looked down at the food in his hand and took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully.

Then he shoved the rest of it in his mouth without a word.

Harry smirked. He could get used to being right. "You've got marshmallow on your face," he informed the other boy. Draco swiped his uninjured fingers at his face, and proceeded to draw a long line of chocolate across his skin.

The touch surprised him more than the nearing hand did. Draco jolted, snapping away from Harry's touch against his skin.

"What the _fuck, _Potter?!"

And Draco did the one thing he was very, very good at. He ran.

The bathroom wasn't very far, and he could still hear Harry's breathing, but he didn't really care. All he wanted to do was wash his face and get that crawling of warmth to stop spreading through his body. He didn't know what it was—well, he did, but it wasn't supposed to be conjured by _Potter. _

He didn't know how long he hid in there, but it felt like ages. The telltale creaking that echoed in his hears told him Harry had left, and he relaxed slightly, slumping against the wall.

Wracking his brain for an explanation, Draco decided it wasn't all that odd that there was…tension between them. It had been ages since he'd had a good wank and he supposed Potter was in the same boat. They were just sexually frustrated, and it was showing in their actions.

It meant nothing.

Harry's curtains were pulled around his mattress when Draco finally emerged from his hiding place. There was the sound of blankets ruffling when he'd settled on his bed. But Harry never looked at him, nor said anything.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco left him gaping like a fool at the fireplace, which was merrily crackling, clearly unaware of the newfound tension in the air. The food wrappers and crumbs strewed across the floor informed Harry that he had, in fact, been with his archenemy without needing to defend himself.

He hadn't been thinking—Draco would tell him that it was a Gryffindor thing; _act first, ask later_—and he hadn't _meant _for it to be as awkward as it seemed.

Everything felt far too still, too harsh—he heard Draco's heavy breathing behind the door, and the running of the tap. A hollow _thump _erupted, and Harry bolted, taking a suggestion from the cowardly boy himself and hiding in the bedroom, the dark red curtains wrapped around tightly.

Draco came in later, and Harry could _feel _his steely glare behind the flimsy fabric. He knew, though, that there was no chance of the blonde approaching him tonight. Part of him felt relieved, part of him felt disappointed, because the tension was already winding itself up tight around him.

It bothered him. The glint in those metallic eyes—shock, fear, conflict all rolled into one—the words that fell off his lips before he'd even thought about it.

Draco was scared. Of what, Harry wasn't entirely sure—but they'd both grown dependent on each other, whether it had been forced or not. They couldn't peer behind the labels, the anger, not anymore.

Sleep did not come for either of them for a long, long time.

Later, in the midst of early morning, Harry sneaked past the slumbering (and snoring) blonde, holding his breath until he reached the frame. A loud creak of protest ripped into the air, causing the brunette to tense, but Draco didn't seem to notice.

He was able to disappear into the bathroom, turning on the tap to the shower with a long sigh of relief. The hot water curled around him, washing away leftover bits of marshmallow in his hair (Harry wasn't sure how that had occurred) and soothing his tensed muscles.

There was a faint scent in the air, the leftover traces of Malfoy lingering around him, and his hand seemed to sense what it was he wanted—but his mind refused to admit to himself.

It was very, very wrong, Harry told himself faintly, from the small lucid part of his mind, to instantly start wanking once he smelled something associated with Malfoy. But he wasn't _really _wanking to Malfoy, it was just something he'd noticed. Two blokes share a place, they're bound to find reminders of the other.

His rationality began to matter less as the familiar unfurling heat began to build, his hand moving faster and faster, thumb quickly grazing the sensitive tip at the end of every stroke. The taut skin of his stomach dipped in dangerously, revealing his ribs as he fought for oxygen, his teeth clamping onto his lower lip hard enough to bruise.

Lost in the humming of his own mind, lost in the small whispers and escaped whimpers, a pair of silver eyes peered through the crack, the pale lips closing tightly as saliva began to pool, and he gulped audibly.

He'd only looked to see if he was going to be finished soon, but the surprise of catching the Golden Boy commit such an explicit act held his attention with far too much ease.

Malfoy was suddenly very disappointed that the curtain was drawn, only allowing a misshapen blur to grace his line of vision. A pathetic little whimper escaped Potter's mouth as he came, multiple shudders and spasms running through his body as he sighed, breathing heavily.

And then Malfoy remembered what he was doing. _Watching _Potter? _I'm going mad,_ the blonde thought, as he scrambled to return to his sleeping place before Potter realized something was off.

Wonder Boy didn't, of course. He didn't notice the sharp intake of breath that the Slytherin student had taken as he walked back in, not even tossing a glance in his direction. He just slipped behind those curtains again, having made his peace with the world, and slipped into sleep.

It was clear, that even with a raging hard on of his own, Draco was not going to get any relief. Even if he did draw his own curtains, and put a silencing charm around himself, the idea that _Potter _could catch him in such a vulnerable state…it did nothing to quell his arousal, of course, but Draco forced himself to think of the fat lady, squirming and whimpering in the throes of passion, and his need for a wank considerably lessened.

He dreamt of Potter, begging for release, knees close to buckling, his cock leaking as he fisted himself.

(He also dreamt of the fat lady, but that was something disturbing all on its own.)

o-o-o-o-o

"Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey began, the sternness of her tone reaching her eyes, "your wounds would heal much more quickly if you would stop picking at them,"

Draco scowled. What did the old bint care if he picked at the scabs? She disliked him as much as anyone else in this bloody school. It had been evident when she'd seen Harry's fading bruise, and her resulting reaction—_Mr. Potter! What happened to you? _ Harry hadn't responded, just given her a weak shrug, and Pomfrey had narrowed her eyes at Draco in silent understanding of what had transpired.

Irritation rose through him, and he was about to bite out a sharp retort, but the quick glance of Potter's green orbs drilling into him caused his throat to dry.

He'd been trying not to remember the events of last night—witnessing the private acts of Saint Potter was hardly his fault, but the reminder was burned beneath his eyelids whether he liked it or not. The sounds that escaped the virginal Golden Boy's lips played over and over, like a broken record.

Potter, on the other hand, had been ignoring him like a child. He had wordlessly accompanied Draco to the infirmary, and didn't offer a counter to Snape's snarky jab—a blush had pooled at his cheeks, but he chose to keep quiet.

An odd scent infiltrated his thoughts, and he snapped back to the present. A clear cream was pooled in the Healer's hand, and she brought one finger to his skull. He flinched at her touch, and the coldness of whatever horrid concoction she was applying to his skin. Potter pretended not to notice. When she finished, he was ready to leave as quickly as possible.

"I have some potions Severus created for you. Stay here."

Draco scowled again. She returned with three vials, each assorted in color. "These will help your body absorb nutrients faster, and give you more energy. Now drink up," The blonde reluctantly obeyed, grimacing at the taste of the first potion. The last two were even worse, and Draco found himself wanting to claw the taste off of his tongue.

A piece of chocolate wrapped in foil reached his hand, and Draco looked at Potter, who was far too deliberative in how he placed the chocolate in the blonde's hand—their skin did not touch, and Harry did not offer explanation for the unexpected show of kindness.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to refuse _chocolate. _The candy was unwrapped slowly, hesitantly, but Draco saw no signs of an unpleasant outcome, so he popped the dark brown treat in his mouth and hid the smile that threatened to stretch across his lips.

After the pleasant taste of the candy wore off, Draco found himself wondering how Potter knew to bring it along. He had the impulse to ask, but a quick glance at Potter's neutral expression seemed to convey a challenge—_you'll break before I do. _And he was damned if he was going to lose to _Potter. _

_So be it, _Malfoy thought, _two can play at this game. _

Snape raised an eyebrow at the silence between the two rivals, but for some inexplicable reason chose not to ask. After applying a disillusionment charm to the boys, he led them back to their room. An unexpected guest was waiting there, perched on one of the chairs with his legs crossed, the teacup that had been raised to his lips suspended in the air at their arrival. McGonagall stood next to him tersely, offering an empty smile at the three males entering the room.

"Hello, Draco," the grey-haired man says, smiling in that irritatingly neutral way, "it's good to see you again."

Before he could make a scathing remark, the Headmistress gave him a hard stare and said, "Dr. Richards will be assisting you both in this matter. I expect your complete cooperation."

"Please take a seat," the man asked, gesturing to a sofa that definitely hadn't been there before. It was gold and red—_Gryffindor _colors. No doubt he wanted to suck up to Saint Potter.

The aforementioned saint took a seat on the couch, and Draco just shot him a withering glare and chose to sit in the large chair parallel to the _traitor _who was currently beaming at Harry. "You may leave," the traitor told the adults who were watching them all wearily. Snape apparently did not need to be told twice, but McGonagall lingered for a moment before following suit.

"Harry Potter, I've heard a lot about you."

"Of course," Draco muttered under his breath. The man did not seem to hear, but Harry did—his eyes narrowed behind his glasses menacingly.

At Harry's lack of response, the doctor—he _was _a doctor, not a Healer—turned to the blonde. "You seem to have lost quite a bit of weight. Could you tell me some of the things that have been bothering you recently?"

"I suppose rooming with a particularly irritating Gryffindor _prat _would bother some," Draco snapped, eyes never leaving the green ones staring at him from across the room.

"Says the snake with the emotional issues of a _sodding _girl!"

Draco recoiled, eyes alight, teeth bared. Potter just called him a girl! "That's rich, coming from a _tosser!" _

Harry was out of his seat in a flash, staring Draco down as he did the same.

"Er…" uttered Richards meekly.

"Shut up!" the two boys roared, and he kept quiet.

"What the _fuck _is your problem? I've done nothing to deserve the shit you keep throwing at me!"

Draco feigned sympathy. "Poor little Potty's got his feelings hurt, has he?"

"You wish," Harry growled, snaking one hand on his shoulder, his nails digging red crescents into the pale skin beneath his shirt.

Malfoy wavered for a moment, unsure about the current proximity between them. "You wouldn't be pouting like the little bender that you are, would you? Boo-hoo, mommy and daddy are gone, everyone feel sorry for me! That's what your plan has been since you came here, you _bastard. _Don't think for a second I buy into it!"

A mirthless chuckle escaped the brunette's throat. It was the last thing Draco had expected. "You really don't know me at all, Malfoy. Don't pretend you do just so you can justify the shit you've done," Harry's grip was tighter, the sheer weight of his arm making his knees tremble.

"I don't pretend," Malfoy said sharply, ripping the boy's hand off his shoulder in anger.

"You don't? Really, Malfoy?" Potter whispered, "So you _admit, _all this time, that you _did _know about that _darling _father of yours? Seems like _you're _the one with the plan."

_That _was his plan all along, Draco realized, eyes darkening. He was right to have been suspicious. Potter just couldn't stop seeking for justice, could he?

"Sorry to disappoint you, Potter, but I knew nothing about your _darling _Dumbledore," Malfoy's eyes lit up then, a smirk on his face, preparing for the outburst to come, "But I think it was time for the senile tosser to retire anyway."

Potter roared, shoving him harshly against the bookcase that had been behind him. _"I'm going to kill you, you insufferable arse!" _There was a sickening _crack, _and both of their eyes widened.

"Potter," Malfoy was able to utter calmly, before the waves of pain began to jolt through his head, "I do believe you just cracked my head open."

"Fuck," was all he uttered, as a thin stream of blood began trickling into the blonde's clothing, and Malfoy found himself staring at the pink lips that were currently blurring in front of gh,his face.

The doctor was all limbs, separating the two of them with quivery breaths. He gently pulled the blonde's head forward, stopping at the cry of protest he made.

"All right," the man said—Draco realized then he was American, and wondered why he hadn't noticed before—pressing a handkerchief at the wound, "You're not bleeding too bad, but let me get Madame Pomfrey to bring some supplies." He paused, looking at Potter wearily, "Please don't kill each other when I'm gone."

Harry just looked at Draco, struck by the blood, his eyes wide.

"Thanks, Potter," Draco snapped, the words coming out more sluggishly than he'd intended, his hand holding the fabric against his skull beginning to slacken.

"Hey," Harry said, putting his hand over the blonde's firmly, his fingers fitting between the bony ones neatly, "you're not allowed to fall asleep, you could have a concussion."

_Shut up, you stupid prat, and stop touching me! _

"Nngh," was Draco's sleepy reply, and his eyelids began to droop.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, not moving his hand at all, to Draco's chagrin, "I shouldn't have done that. But..but you can be such a git, you know!"

"_You started it." _Draco whispered.

"How did _I _start it? You spoke first!"

"_You _decided to start the silent treatment," Draco reminded him, his head drooping against the boy's hand.

"Like you cared!" Potter muttered.

"You're not allowed to ignore me," Draco countered childishly.

Draco didn't hear Harry's response to that, because Madame Pomfrey thundered in, screeching, "What did you do?"

He had planned on whinging about Potter, getting him in trouble, and lapping up all the attention. What he said, though, seemingly came out of nowhere.

"'S an accident," Draco mumbled, "I just tripped."

"What?" Harry and Richards cried in unison.

The removal of Harry's touch disappointed him, and the blonde shoved that particular thought away.

Madame Pomfrey busied herself with shoving some nasty potion down his throat, and pasting some ointment against the throbbing of his skull. "Can you two try to get along?" she muttered in his ear, as she worked.

_He started it_, thought Draco crossly. He used all of his willpower to keep the retort at bay, and when he tried to find a reason for avoiding naming Potter as the culprit, he couldn't find one.

"It really was an accident," repeated Malfoy, as Madame Pomfrey stared at him in disbelief. He conveniently kept his gaze out of line with the brunette standing beside him, but he figured he'd have some similar expression.

The woman muttered something about how she was getting too old to deal with this, and simply told him to keep an eye on the pain level and for anything unusual. When she left, Draco stared at the floor.

"Well," Dr. Richards said finally, breaking into the awkward silence, "we certainly will have a bit to talk about next time, won't we?"

"Next time?" Harry echoed, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

"Yes, your Headmistress has asked for my help, and I told her that I would meet with you as many times as necessary to offer my own theory."

"Bugger," Draco muttered, the throbbing of his skin distracting him pleasantly from the awkwardness of the situation.

"Harry," the older man handed him a card, "Please don't hesitate to contact me. Especially if it's an emergency."

"Trust me," Draco muttered sarcastically, "your Wonder Boy will be just fine."

There was a sigh in response, but he wasn't sure from who.

o-o-o-o-o

Harry was spending far too much staring at him and Draco was spending far too much time pretending not to notice. It got on the brunette's nerves.

The clinking of silverware against their plates screeched uncomfortably.

"Malfoy, will you just talk to me!" Harry snapped finally.

The blonde didn't even look at him. He just his fork to his mouth, chewed slowly, and then said, "What is there to talk about, Potter?"

A sharp intake of breath made Draco smirk. Torturing Potter was always fun. "I think you know what there is to talk about." There was a pause. "Bloody hell, will you just _look _at me?"

He looked up, briefly, and then returned to his plate. In the corner of his eye, he saw Potter's fist curl up tightly.

"You going to break a rib this time if you don't get what you want?" Draco asked, knowing the guilt would stab at Potter like a knife. The boy was far too predictable. His plate was soon abandoned, and Potter hadn't responded. He shrugged, his bony shoulders causing a jolt of pain to run up his skull as he lifted them.

He'd gotten up to go to the bedroom, and Harry had him cornered against the wall, hands against his shoulders, keeping him there.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked finally. Draco didn't dare to look into his eyes. He focused on the hollow of his neck, the shadows dancing across his olive skin, but never his face.

He remembered the sounds that delectable throat was capable of making.

"I'm not doing anything to you, Potter." It was toneless, flat.

"Stop lying to me!" he snapped, "You're baiting me, and then…and then when you get what you want you _don't _take it? What are you planning?"

Draco looks up, staring into the green eyes, raising a brow. "If I'd known you'd be this ungrateful I'd have told the truth."

Harry let out a sigh, and then shook his head, releasing him. "I can't fucking stand living with you anymore."

"That," Draco reminded him, as he walked away, "is all your fault, not mine."

Sometime later in the night, after Draco had given up on starting some homework, and decided to try to get to sleep (on his stomach, which was just odd), he heard Harry leave the room. He supposed the boy was attempting to be quiet, but he wasn't very good at it.

After a while, Draco decided to peek behind the creaking door and spotted the Gryffindor curling up on the sofa.

_It would seem,_ the blonde thought bitterly, as he tried to get to sleep, _that Potter couldn't stand his presence at all. _Then he smiled when a plan came into mind.

"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?" asked Harry bluntly, when he saw the boy had wrapped himself up in his duvet and settled onto one of the chairs. A silent remark transpired solely through expressions.

_Pissing you off, of course. It's working, too. _

"Shush, Potter. I need to get to sleep." He nestled into the fabric, smirking at Harry's outraged stare.

At Harry's angry sigh, and the pout that grew across his features, Draco felt much better, even if he would wake up with a stiff back and aching head.


	10. Chapter 10

A long snore jolted Harry out of his slumber. He grimaced as he rose from the cramped couch, his bones creaking after a long night in a disagreeable position. There were numerous aches in his neck and back, and he tossed a glare at the still-sleeping Slytherin who had gotten him into that predicament in the first place. _Bloody Malfoy, _seethed Harry, as he took a seat at the small table and waited for the house elf to arrive with the morning's breakfast. Tossing another long stare at the boy, he purposefully knocked over the vase holding two daisies onto the floor, smirking when the resulting crash woke him up.

Somewhere, in the back of his head, Harry was acutely aware of the stirring attraction that burst through him upon meeting Malfoy's wild gaze. It was official, he was going mad.

"Bloody Hell, Potter!" shrieked the blonde, in a voice far too feminine for him. One long bony leg sprawled out, causing him to ungracefully teeter when he tried to stand. The other knee, the one that had been curled beneath him as he slept, buckled as the familiar tingling sensation reminded him he'd kept it from blood flow. In any case, it resulted in his body ending up on the floor, his hand narrowly missing a particularly large piece of blue ceramic vase.

"Sleep well?" drawled Potter smugly, vanishing the sharp pieces before they could warrant another visit to Madame Pomfrey.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and simply launched himself at the arrogant brunette, whose eyes widened for a moment before his body took over and sent one fist against his chest, the resulting pain causing him to gape at the ceiling for a moment as he fought for breath.

The blonde was far too close for his liking, the attraction buzzing wildly as Harry thrashed ungracefully, trying to get away. He hadn't meant to hit him, it was a reflex resulting from panic.

"You," Malfoy choked out, a nearly inaudible mirthless chuckle escaping his throat, "have anger issues, Potter. Does your charming little fanclub know you're racking up assault charges?"

"You goaded me into it, you git!" Potter countered, nostrils flaring as he fought to hide the guilt that wanted to stretch across his face.

"Tell me," Draco continued, ignoring the angry boy's protest, "Have you ever hit that little Weaselette—"

"Of course I haven't, you bastard!"

"Your current conduct with me suggests otherwise, _Potter." _Draco said mockingly, as he rose to his feet with shaking legs.

"I wouldn't _snog _you either," Potter snapped irritably, in a weak attempt to differentiate between the Slytherin and the female Gryffindor.

Draco's grin turned almost feral. "Which implies you've _thought _about it."

A blush spread across the boy's cheeks and Draco stepped closer, leering dangerously. "How long _have _you wanted to snog a bloke, Potter?"

_Not till recently, _thought Harry, but he wasn't daft enough to actually answer the question.

He shoved him, and Draco cackled at the light in the green eyes before him. _This _was the Harry he knew—not the one who was attempting to be civil and _kind. _

The boy was stepping closer, his smoldering gaze curiously holding him in place and Draco suddenly felt like they were miles apart.

"I am here with the breakfast, Mr. Potter!" cheered a particularly irritating house elf, as she gazed at the two boys curiously after entering the room with a telltale _pop. _The spell between them broke, and Harry snapped his head back, which had been nowhere near Draco's to begin with but he suddenly felt like the blonde had permeated him somehow.

Malfoy entered the bathroom, a place that he was quickly becoming all too familiar with. He paused, waiting to hear Harry's response to the house elf—leave it to Potter to want to speak to the vermin, scoffed Draco—and then turned on the tap to the shower.

Clumps of dried blood landed on his feet as he pulled his hands back, realizing the itchy substance on his skull was a result from the altercation he had with the Boy Hero the night before. A small bruise was forming on his chest, where said boy had decided to abuse him further. Draco decided that he really needed to start causing more damage to Potter.

The other wounds on his skull were almost fully healed, but the largest and the most severe one was bleeding again after his ill-advised impulse to scratch at it until the itching went away.

Harry nearly spat out the pumpkin juice he had been drinking when he saw Malfoy exit the bathroom. A thin, watery red trail ran from his neck and down his chest, past the deepening bruise and down into the blonde curls peeking out from under the waistband of the towel.

"You're bleeding," Harry mumbled, after forcing the sweet liquid down his throat.

Malfoy feigned surprise and uttered, "What an astute observation! Really, Potter, how did _you _end up surviving the death curse?" He disappeared into the bedroom, but continued, "Perhaps you don't have much of a brain and too much brawn. Maybe you're related to Crabbe or Goyle."

Draco poked his head out around the corner of the doorway curiously when Harry failed to answer. "What? No witty response on what a git I am?"

Harry bristled, chewing on a piece of ham before answering, and it wasn't to answer his jab of a queue. "I think you should bandage that up before it stains your poncy clothes."

"My clothes are not poncy," Draco said, with a sniff, as he sauntered over to the warming tray and sat, "they're expensive and completely masculine."

"Right, to go along with your hair." muttered Harry.

"It's better than having it masquerade as a crow's nest," retorted Draco, resisting the urge to pull at his hair self consciously. His cold gaze followed Harry as he walked around the table, armed with a muggle first-aid kit.

"Where did you get _that?" _asked Draco in horror.

The brunette ignored this and stood behind the sitting snake. He jumped at the light touch of Harry's fingers and stammered out, "_What _are you doing, Potter?"

"Fixing your skull, you moron. Stay still."

Draco, not one for going with the grain, thrashed about. Warm fingers pressed against his shoulders. "Stop," commanded Harry, his tone rough, causing an odd shiver to run up the other boy's spine.

He stopped, if only in dumbfounded wonder of the sensation Harry had imposed on him.

"There," whispered Harry, whose lips, in Draco's opinion, was far too close to his own skin.

Time froze, sounds silenced. Draco felt a woosh of feeling rush through him as Harry's lips brushed his neck. On purpose or by accident, he wasn't sure, but the feeling was humming through him, and Draco recognized it as lust.

"Potter," Draco managed between a clenched jaw, "please stop touching me now." The warmth quickly disappeared as Harry backed away, as if he'd been struck.

The thin boy stood, whirling around, searching for Harry, who'd managed to slump into the sofa wordlessly. There was a weary expression on his face. Draco recognized that look. That was a look of complete and utter despair, and yet not really giving a damn anymore.

"Would you like to hear my theory?" Draco asked quietly.

Potter managed to babble for a moment, and he waved his hand to silence him, and then continued.

"You know I'd rather snog Granger than ever touch you," Potter's brows lifted in agreement, "but we're teenage blokes and our hormones are telling us we need to get laid, and bloody soon. But we're stuck together, and the…the whole thing's gone haywire, you see? Suddenly you want to shag me and suddenly _I'd _bloody _let_ you instead of hexing you—"

"I don't want to shag you!"

Draco gave Harry a reproachful stare, and he just sighed. "I don't. Just…touch you, a little, maybe."

"Whatever, Potter."

"So why don't we just let it happen?"

His jaw promptly unhinged.

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy. You said so yourself—we need to get laid but with _you _stuck to me I doubt that'll be occurring anytime soon. And once this whole mess gets straightened out I'll go back to hating you and you can go back to preening yourself and—" 

"I'm not a bloody bird."

"Your face is pointy, and so are birds' faces. Anyway, Malfoy, it's not like we have much choice, do we?"

Malfoy sat in the chair parallel to him and frowned. "I have more control over my hormones, Potter, I'm not reducing myself to snog you out of desperation just yet."

Harry shrugged. "Fine, then. I still say you're pointy."

Draco found himself watching Potter more than he usually did later that day. He noticed the way the light made his green eyes glitter if he turned his head _just so, _saw the way he sucked at his lower lip when in thought. He had the habit of biting his nails, and often did so while writing, somehow making a disgusting habit vaguely attractive.

But he still was nowhere near reducing himself to _using _Potter for sexual relief.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A small barn owl arrived that afternoon, tapping at the small window in the common room impatiently. Draco removed the parchment from the creature's leg, yelping when the bird's beak attempted to gouge his hand. He swatted it away, and it bristled angrily, ungracefully plummeting into the sky.

Harry's name was written in neat cursive, and the blonde ignored it, opening the envelope with brimming curiosity.

_Harry,_

_I've searched the library through and so far haven't had any luck. There's plenty on binding spells, of course, but none match the degree that you've been experiencing. _

_I'll keep looking, Harry, but in the meantime keep out of trouble and try to get along with Malfoy, as irritating as he is._

The letter continued, rambling a bit more on about the classes Harry had missed and that she hoped he'd been keeping up on his coursework, because _she _wasn't going to help him if he got too far behind.

Granger, curiously enough, offered no clever commentary on the rumors that were no doubt rushing through the school and Draco found himself disappointed by the lack of information that he was no doubt missing whilst being locked up with Potter.

He tossed the letter haphazardly aside and frowned at the blank piece of parchment before him, which was supposed to be a three foot essay on the uses of wolfsbane. Putting his quill to the surface, he'd hardly gotten a letter started when Snape entered, quite loudly.

"Hello, Draco." He murmured, managing to sound neutral and displeased at the same time, which was quite a feat.

"Professor," Draco greeted his godfather cordially, turning away from his blank parchment.

Harry stood at the doorway to the bedroom and said nothing. He simply gazed curiously at the exchange.

"The Headmistress, for some asinine reason, believes the two of you should be allowed to attend the school's trip to Hogsmeade, if you so choose."

The two boys exchanged looks. "That would be nice," Harry said cautiously, and Draco simply shrugged.

"We will be leaving two days from now. There are conditions," Snape stared at Harry, as if accusing him of planning to get into trouble, "you must turn in a quarter of your coursework if you want to attend, you _must _stay together, and we will be applying a trace. In case you decide to…get into a mishap or two."

"That sounds reasonable," answered Draco, before Potter could open his trap and ruin their chances.

Snape simply looked at them blankly and told them he would inform the Headmistress of their decision. He bode them a stern farewell and left, the door creaking as it slammed shut.

Harry's lips split into a grin, and Draco felt oddly miffed at his joy. "Stop smiling like an imbecile, Potter, it's just Hogsmeade."

He just looked at him, shrugging. "A smile or two won't kill you, Malfoy."

"Go away, Potter. I've got coursework to do and can't possibly focus with your inane babbling," the blonde muttered crossly. Potter just shook his head and left, a smaller smile still on his lips. The light caught his eyes, bits of green glittering at him like enchanted jewels.

There was an odd bit of anxiety building inside of him, and it had nothing to do with the voices.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Ron," Hermione said pensively, hugging a dark red pillow to her chest as she stroked Crookshanks' fur absently, "What if it was a love spell?"

The night hung in the air, wet fog making the windows blur with moisture. The fire in the Gryffindor common room crackled happily, blissfully unaware of Hermione's slightly disturbing question. The rest of the Gryffindor group were unaware of their conversation, as the bushy-haired witch had wisely applied a silencing charm prior to her question.

The fiery-haired boy looked at her incredulously, then promptly turned green. "What kind of sick person would do such a thing?" His lips thinned as he began to create a mental list. Plenty of Slytherins could be the culprit. Draco wasn't exactly anyone's favorite person these days, and it could have been some sort of prank gone awry.

"Perhaps we should…interview a few people," Ron suggested, the light in his eye implying a much more violent scene of events. Perhaps even a few Unforgivables could be useful in this case, Ron thought dreamily, as he pictured Draco whining for mercy.

"Ronald! We can't just go around asking about Harry. We have to keep this quiet!" Hermione scolded. Her male counterpart frowned.

"Say, 'Mione," Ron asked, looking at her, "Do you think he's okay?"

Hermione sighed. "I hope so."

Crookshanks simply purred in adoration for the hand running across his orange fur.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Draco found himself calmed enough to share a room with the Boy Wonder, he'd wordlessly eaten his supper and chose not to make an icy retort about the way the boy chewed. It couldn't be healthy for one's heartbeat to change speeds so quickly.

Harry was evidently in a different mindset, as he wanted to talk about their upcoming visit to Hogsmeade. He was yammering on about the different places they could go, like he'd never been there and needed someone to hold his hand. During a particularly long description of the things he'd do with his two Gryffindor idiots, Draco pushed his plate away and stood, slightly marveling at Harry's obliviousness to his actions and walked away.

"Malfoy," he called, predictably irritated, "Isn't there anyone you want to see or anything you want to do?"

He lingered in the doorway, the scruffy mop of hair hanging in his face.

"Forgive me for lacking in the childish excitement you seem to still hold for a place I've been to a thousand times," the blonde snapped bitterly.

"We haven't been out of this room in days! That's cause enough for celebration, even if I _do _have to stick with you."

"You Gryffindors," Malfoy growled, "you could find a silver lining on a bloody mushroom cloud."

"I can't believe I have to go to Hogsmeade with you; you'll just brood in a corner the whole time!" stated Harry snappishly, with a whinge.

Draco smirked. The one good thing about bad moods—they were highly contagious. And he couldn't have _Potter _running around with his golden friends and dragging him into even more trouble.

That, and Draco Malfoy hated being ignored. His own father had ignored him for the infamous cretin, and far too many others had followed suit. He wanted that burst of intrigue everyone had for anything _Potter _related for himself.

And if it was the last thing he did, people were going to think _Draco Malfoy _independent of _Harry fucking Potter. _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"So," the greying hair flashed as the flames beside Richards flickered around dying coals, his lips spraying spittle in his unrestrained relief at _Potter's _still-intact livelihood, "I'm pleased to see you two haven't managed to injure each other too much since my last visit."

Harry only managed a nervous chuckle at that, and his Adam's apple visibly bobbed as he tried to appear innocent. The sound rolled off his tongue, careening toward Draco like a blind owl, catching his lungs with some sort of invisible thread and pulling tight, till he could barely breathe.

Stupid Potter and his stupid attractive laughter.

"Draco, you're frowning. Is something bothering you?" the man looked at him, his head tilted slightly, that infuriating smile on his lips. His fingers drummed across the notebook on his lap loudly, the resulting sounds hollow and nothing like Gryffindork's poster boy's laughter.

"Nothing more than the usual," answered Draco harshly.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Harry flinch slightly. No doubt he was waiting for him to spew out his precious little secrets, particularly the one in which he _admitting _to attraction to his rival. He smirked at the thought, but chose to keep the information to himself. For the time being, anyway.

"What _does _bother you, Draco?" The wide eyes searched his expression, trying to pick up any hint at all from his reaction to the question.

"Oh, you know. The usual. War, famine, poverty. Little children crying."

"Can't you be serious?" snapped Harry, from his comfortable little corner on the sofa.

"Does it _bother _you that I'm not?" purred Draco, an equally feline smile stretching across his cracked lips.

"How did you and Draco get along before this…incident, Harry?" The question cuts the glare being thrown across the room to the blonde, and Harry laughs at the question. The invisible thread tightens around his chest and he resists the urge to claw at it.

"Like rivals usually do," answered Harry finally, smirking at Draco, who was still fighting for air, "we squabbled quite frequently."

"And why are you rivals?" It may have seemed like a simple question to the incredibly uninformed Dr. Richards, but Draco and Harry knew it was no simple task to explain.

"Well…" Harry trailed off, lifting his green orbs to meet Draco's bright blue ones. He didn't want to admit it to Draco's little ferret face; he hardly needed any more ego. He was _jealous. _Draco had a family, despite how imperfect it was, he never had to worry about money, and he was throwing it all away, and Harry had to watch it.

Malfoy lifted his eyebrows in a form of silent prodding. _Care to see who breaks first, Potter? _

"We just are," Harry finished lamely, "there's been a feud between the Gryffindors and Slytherins for ages anyway."

Without missing a beat, the older man just shrugged. "I can't help but wonder if one of you did _this _on purpose, is all."

"And why, pray tell, would I lock myself up with _him?" _asked Draco incredulously, wondering where the man had attained his schooling. Harry refrained from agreeing whole-heartedly with his Slytherin associate.

"So neither of you decided to use a few Unforgivable curses, perhaps, during a late-night duel? Neither of you tried to prank the other with a spell you hadn't been taught to use properly?"

Draco said 'no' at the same time that Harry responded, quite sheepishly, 'yes'.

Dr. Richards seemed amused.

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Sectumsempra," Harry said quietly, "I didn't know what it was, and I hadn't even thought about it, really, I just…It was Professor Snape's spe—"

"You're mad, Richards. _His _precious golden trio has already been down this road, and if _those _idiotscan't figure it out than how can you? You're a muggle!" Draco interrupted irritatedly.

"Half," corrected the doctor gently, and continued, "And I think that correspondence with a particular Severus Snape will help me get a bit further, don't you?"

"How do you know what _my _friends did?" sputtered Harry, ever the articulate individual.

"I have my ways," Draco said, ignoring the saviour's further cries of outrage.

"In order to help you, I need to hear both your stories from the beginning. And I feel that explaining how your…_dislike _for each other started would help put some pieces of the puzzle together." It was interesting how the man made calmness irritating.

"There's a reason you're doing all this, isn't there? What is it? Money? Fame?" The questions came out in a hiss, and Richards didn't seem perturbed by the tone or the expression on the Slytherin's face.

"We don't have any choice, Malfoy!" shot Harry, who had somehow found his way beside the chair of the seething blonde, "Will you let go of your sodding trust issues for once?"

"Fucking Gryffindors," he snarled back, "Does your conviction in others only extend to those who bat their lashes and kiss your arse?"

"I am _not _wasting any more time in fighting you. People don't need to jump through hoops cloaked by clever insults to prove they want to help me, Malfoy," Harry whispered, towering above him menacingly, "This is going to end, and then I am _never _speaking to you again."

"Never would be too soon," snarked Draco, though the tightening thread around his lungs suggested otherwise.

He stopped suddenly, and smirked, turning to the doctor who had been watching their heated exchange. "Be sure to ask him about his desire to shag me, will you?" He spoke innocently, but the request was far from it.

Potter began sputtering again and Malfoy stalked away triumphantly.


	11. Chapter 11

"I don't want to shag him," Harry spat out after he'd gotten over the initial surprise of the blonde's parting statement. Richards just lifted a brow, but chose not to comment. The man reclined further into his seat, pressing two fingers underneath his chin to prop it up.

"Would you care to explain how you two…seemed to create such an intense animosity for each other?" Harry didn't want to, not really—he'd much rather tell the man to sod off and go to sleep until this whole bloody ordeal was over with—but the prodding he received from amber eyes made him continue on.

The darker-haired boy sighed, and slumped back into the loveseat—funny that they'd summon that here, there was no chance of _love _between them, at all. Not even friendship seemed to be possible.

"I refused his hand in friendship six years ago, and ever since then we've had it out for each other." The explanation was appallingly simplistic, and Richards knew there was more to the story than Harry was choosing to relay, but he chose to let it pass.

"Harry," the older male began, smiling knowingly, "I believe I can help you and Draco. But before I can help you, you both need to put your differences aside, even if it has to be only temporary, and work together. In the meantime, I will gather more information from your professor and headmistress, and perhaps even develop a method. Can I ask you to try to speak to Draco, and explain this to him?"

Another long sigh escaped the slumped figure's mouth and he looked up, smiling weakly. "I don't have much choice, now do I?"

Richards gave him an apologetic look. "I'm afraid not, Harry."

Draco listened to the whole exchange with a scowl, but grudgingly admitted to himself that the old duffer had a point. It did no good for either of them to prolong the situation any farther than necessary.

The counselor stood up, patting at his coat for a moment before murmuring, sheepishly, that he needed a cigarette.

"I suppose I'll see you off then, Mr. Richards."

Draco snorted. Did Potter really have to bloody fawn over everyone? It wasn't like everyone _wasn't _in love with the git. Except himself, and the blokes that wanted to kill him, he supposed.

The door shut, and Potter went in search for Draco. He, naturally, did not have to go far.

"Miss me already, Potter?"

Harry collapsed on his bed with a long sigh. "Let's just have a truce, Malfoy. I'm tired of being stuck like this."

Draco looked at him, his eyebrow arched. "You're no fun."

"And how would I be more fun?"

The blonde swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with tension as he tried to speak, but Potter had him all jumbled like some damned schoolgirl. He chose to avoid the question and said, tensely, "Fine, Potter. A truce. But the _second _we leave this room, I'll treat you as I always have."

There was a long silence, and Draco looked up at the boy's form. "Potter?" His breaths were long and even, and he thought for a moment that he was asleep.

But then, finally: "I suppose that's the best I could expect from you."

"What else _did _you expect? For us to become best mates, like your Weasley friend? This isn't a bloody soap, you pillock." Harry wondered how Malfoy knew about soaps. It was showcased on a muggle item, and Malfoy had implied time and time again that he was far too good for such things.

Somehow, somewhere in the stillness of the room the brunette had gotten up from his bed and taken long strides to loom over Draco like, oddly enough, Snape.

"What is it that you want, Malfoy? I've always wondered—you pick at me like some sort of oozing scab, and it's all we've ever been to each other—despicable little parasites."

The blonde let out a derisive chuckle. "I see that eloquence does not fully escape you after all." Potter gave him a hard stare, pinning him with those bottle-green eyes, his jaw clenched tightly—a sign of his growing crossness with Draco himself. He took one hand—the boy seemed so much larger, even at his short stature, next to his thin frame—and took his arm, ripping him from his position. Placing one hand on either side of his head against the wall, Harry simply stared at him.

Then the bloody bastard-who-wouldn't-fucking-die pressed his closed lips to his own cracked ones. It was a harsh kiss, and Draco found himself wondering, how exactly, they had ended up here.

"Was that what you wanted, you stupid prat? You win, okay? Stop dancing around the bloody issue." Harry growled, and Draco was relieved to see that he hated him as much as he always did; they just had the odd impulse to snog each other too. Completely normal.

Draco sneered and wrapped one clammy hand around the warm neck in front of him. Their teeth crashed together, lips sloppily touching as he kept Harry's head from moving and the brunette countered the act of dominance by wrapping his hands around the sides of his head, holding him so tightly it was nearly painful.

When they parted, Draco muttered snarkily, "You're terrible at this."

"Likewise," answered Harry, the challenge in his eyes making Draco curl his fingernails into the soft olive skin within his reach. He leaned in again, clearly not deterred by the inexperienced hands tearing at his skin clumsily.

o-o-o-o-o-o

The next morning, things were mostly the same. The two had parted just as venomously as they would have without the snogging, and Draco glared at him over his plate, just as he would any other day. The only thing that was different, in fact, was the restraint each of them was attempting to practice in their conversations.

"Pass the salt," Draco would say, his fist clenched tightly as he fought back a retort, and added bitterly, "_Please." _

Potter did, with the same amount of forced civility. He wondered why they even bothered. After breakfast, they parted ways, disappearing in two different corners of their living space to finish some coursework. It was only after a quiet hour that Draco chose to seek out his loathed partner and kiss the stupid git again.

Their fight, between sloppy and quite frankly, inexperienced kisses, had been less intense, but the challenge was still there. Harry suspected it would always be.

Draco had decided he'd had enough and shoved Potter away, remarking snidely that his charity work for the day was finished.

"For the record, I still hate you, and I'm not a ponce." Harry muttered in response.

"Of course not, you twat. A hand is a hand, a pair of lips are lips. We're in a bloody terrible situation, and this is just a creative way of getting rid of tension. Trust me, any girl would be better than you, but we've got no choice, have we?"

Harry just grunted in agreement, and turned away. He chose not to mention that he'd lied—he didn't hate Draco. Not really. Disliked his company most of the time, sure. But hate was a rather strong word for a bloke he'd just been snogging the life out of.

They left each other alone for the rest of the day.

Severus owled them when the dark night began merging with the softening sun, telling the boys that they were allowed to go to Hogsmeade the following day.

_STAY TOGETHER. _It was written in a hasty scrawl at the bottom of the parchment, as if it had been an afterthought. He had underlined it three times, for good measure. Harry tossed the letter in Draco's lap wordlessly, and left just as quietly. If there was one thing that bothered him most, it was the silence.

"Malfoy," said Harry finally, as he was staring at the ceiling waiting for sleep to overcome them both, "If you want to invite your friends to come with us tomorrow…you can. If you want."

Draco pretended to be asleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o

"Malfoy, you tosser, if you don't get up already, we're going to be late!"

The blonde muttered an unintelligible curse under the great heap of covers. The only visible sign of his presence, in fact, was the one pale foot peeking out from the green duvet. Harry tickled the skin of his heel, and laughed when Draco tried to kick him in response.

"I hate you," grunted the thin boy, who glared at him, one silver eye narrowed at him though a small opening between the heap of blankets.

The darker-haired boy was busy hiding an amused smile and simply ripped the blankets that shielded the cold from Malfoy, resulting in a low growl from the other boy.

Thirty minutes later, Draco was dressed in an expensive looking black sweater, a tuxedo jacket, and a pair of slacks. All of which would have looked quite impeccable with his dark emerald dragonhide dress shoes had they fit properly. Instead, the clothes hung on him much like Dudley's old clothes had on Harry.

"Hungry?" Harry asked, pushing his tray of food toward him. The blonde simply stared at it. Cocking his head at the uncharacteristic silence, Harry tried, "You should eat. I mean…it's not like you've got any more weight to lose, really."

"I'm not hungry, _Potter." _Draco snapped, the emphasis on his latter name was strong and bitter, filled of a tired hate and anger. The brunette backed off, shrugging gingerly, choosing not to respond to the remark. No sense in risking his trip to Hogsmeade, after all.

Snape arrived after all the students had left, holding two vials in his hand with his typical stoic expression.

"What are those?" asked Harry curiously. Snape sneered like Harry had asked some painfully obvious question, and predictably made a comment on his lack of intelligence.

"Did you really think we would allow you to go prancing about in your real forms?" droned the greasy-haired man in his silky voice.

"This is a polyjuice potion I've painfully wasted my time on. It should give you two hours. Use your time wisely."

Draco just took the potion, grimacing as he swallowed the foul liquid. "Bloody hell, that's terrible."

Harry's face was one contorted in absolute horror. He, as well, had taken the drink without much thought, anxious to leave. But he stared at a familiar pudgy face with dark hair and dark eyes. The boy was absolutely livid once he'd gotten over his shock. It was no doubt on purpose, as the glint and smirk on Snape's face had given him enough reason to suspect so.

"Say one word, Potter, except in gratitude, and I shall leave you here."

Harry clenched his jaw, wincing at the wobbly flesh beneath his chin. "_Thanks," _he ground out miserably.

"Did you really have to choose such a distasteful and hideous specimen?" complained Draco crossly, crossing his pudgy arms.

Snape ignored him, and Harry wondered when he began harboring an apparent dislike for his favorite student. Perhaps he believed the Gryffindor had tainted him somehow.

"Come, I've no need to dawdle here all day."

It was odd and uncomfortable, to say the least, having to share a carriage with his rival and most disliked professor. Even worse when the Dudley-lookalike stared at him in contempt. Harry refrained from saying anything and the tense air only tortured him more before they arrived at their destination.

"Meet me here no later than ten-fifteen. _Do not _make me look for you." Snape then departed, heading in the opposite direction of the obese Dudley twins.

"Gods, my cousin is so very ugly," muttered Harry.

Draco's dark eyebrows rose in amused surprise. "This beast is your cousin? Seems he has very poor luck indeed."

Harry made a sound in agreement and then started heading to the Three Broomsticks, where he hoped to find his friends. Draco immediately spotted Weasley's bright red hair and groaned. "Must we dwell in the company of your wimpish friends, Potter?"

"We can find your friends and ask them to join us," said Harry, quite graciously in his opinion. Draco seemed to disagree, as he pouted beside him when they reached the table the rest of the Golden Trio were at.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in confusion, her bushy hair sweeping against Ron's shoulder as she drew back. Ron simply looked constipated.

"Wipe those ridiculous expressions off your face, you imbeciles, I've no desire to see your faces even uglier than they typically are," snapped Malfoy, slipping into one seat with grace—even in the body of bumbling Dudley—that Harry envied.

"Glad to see you're as charming as always, Malfoy," spat out Hermione, blood rushing to her cheeks. Harry sat down and sighed.

"That you, Harry?" Ron asked, bewildered. "You look like _hell, _mate!" Draco snorted, and opened his mouth to make a derisive comment, but the aforementioned Gryffindor jabbed him with his sharp elbow. Draco let out a yelp and then glared at his twin.

"Yes. Let's order a few butterbeers and try to make sense of this mess, shall we?"

After a long, boring conversation filled with drivel, as Malfoy put it, the three students chose to wander in a few shops. Draco accompanied them, whining the entire time about how useless the three Gryffindors were in terms of entertainment. He'd later chosen to tune them out, not caring where they went as long as the contents of the shop had something for him to tinker with as the rest of the group chattered on.

"How can you _stand _him, Harry?" whispered Ron, looking aghast as the look-alike Dudley accidently dropped a love potion, causing to splatter across the floor. The smell of roses filled his nose and Draco sneered.

"Most of the time he's tolerable," Harry said absently, staring at a ring in sitting in the palm of his hand. It was charmed to respond to touch.

"I'd have gone mental by now, mate, but whatever you say," muttered Ron, leering at the Slytherin boy.

"I can hear you, you know," called Draco casually, and the redhead blanched.

The rest of the time went by fairly quickly, and nothing about their current…_situation _had been solved. Draco considered the entire affair useless in that sense, but the Boy Wonder always got what he wanted, and he was in no position to change that.

o-o-o-o-o-o

"I'm going to bed," Draco muttered crossly, stomping to the bedroom in a huff. Harry rolled his eyes, fairly accustomed to the blonde's theatrics by now. The shorter boy followed him.

"What are you staring at me for?"

"You could have told me if there was somewhere you wanted to go, I didn't want you to have such a bad time,"

"Save the hero shit for someone who cares, Potter, and let me sleep in peace."

"Why are you so angry? I tried to be fair, and you're the one making it difficult!"

Harry was sitting on _his _bed now, apparently trying to keep him from sleeping until they had whatever conversation the boy was aiming for. Draco frowned.

"I do not want to have a heart-to-heart with you, now shut up and leave me alone."

"Who says I want to have a heart-to-heart?" Harry muttered, his eyes glinting against the candlelight as he stared.

His callused hands grabbed the slimmer neck beside him, and his captured Draco's lips in one clean swoop. The blonde made a sound of surprise, but relaxed. His tongue darted out, slipping into Harry's mouth, caressing the silky smoothness of his mouth curiously.

They stayed like that for a while, until Harry drew back with a yelp. The web of skin beneath his tongue ached in protest.

"I sprained my tongue!"

"You really _are _terrible at this," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. He slipped beneath the covers and motioned for Harry to leave.

"Maybe I want to stay and talk about my newfound _feelings _for you," snarked Harry.

Quickly recovering the look of horror on his face, Draco settled for an icy glare.

"I still hate you," the brunette said hastily, as he left the room.

"Me too," muttered the blonde quietly.


	12. Chapter 12

"We'd like to ask you to do something, if we could."

Draco raised one pale eyebrow, as a sign for the older man to get on with it. McGonagall's distaste for him shone in her eyes, the dancing flames from the candles around him only making the emotion seem that much stronger. The room, Draco faintly recognized, smelled of vanilla. It was a smell he had no desire to have a connection to, as only girls liked that sort of thing. Secretly, he found the scent rather nice.

Snape, the traitor, seemed rather resigned and above the whole ordeal, and was only there for it was expected of him.

Harry—well, Harry was out of it. He was simply peering at the group blearily; as he'd not yet had a chance to fully awake. And he hadn't, with that blonde bastard infiltrating his dreams the way he had. He suspected Draco had hexed him in his sleep—he certainly was capable of it.

The two boys were plopped lazily against the green backdrop of the room—which was no doubt Snape's doing, Harry suspected. Draco's hair had grown in a bit, and it stood out against that horrid Slytherin color—reminding him, again, as it shimmered in the soft light tauntingly, that he was _snogging _a _Slytherin. _

Not at the present time, of course, but the night before—the night before, he had. And his dreams seemed to try to convey to him that he wanted more from the sharp-tongued snake. Which was bollocks, really. He had no desire to have his cock anywhere near _Malfoy's, _for fuck's sake.

_Liar. _Harry's inner voice sang mockingly, and he chased it away before it could say any more. The mention of his name snapped him out of his barely-lucid state.

"Harry, if you could," the man was rambling, "I'd like you to step into the bedroom and close the door. I'd like to observe the effects of Draco's response for a few moments."

Malfoy seethed, and Snape looked livid. Neither of them chose to say anything, partly because the Golden Boy beat them to it. "No, I mean, that's just…no, I don't think that's a good idea."

Harry tried not to be aware of the silver eyes that widened in surprise. His eyes, apparently having a mind of his own, slipped to meet the mercury gaze.

They then appeared to have a conversation through staring. It was the sort of thing Harry expected with lovers, or close siblings. But never rivals.

_Going soft, Potter?_

_Shut it. You _know _it's a bad idea._

_Scared, then?_

Potter's eyes glinted in that way that they did whenever he felt slighted or angry. The stare spoke volumes, and Malfoy almost felt…well, that didn't matter. His stare said, _You wish. _

"Well, scurry off then, Potty, I don't feel like waiting too long," said the blonde waspishly.

Harry could only respond with something Malfoy assumed was a sneer, but it was a poor excuse for one—the boy's heart wasn't in it.

"Ten seconds," Snape interjected, before Harry closed the door.

It wasn't immediate, like last time. Draco clearly remembered thinking, for about half a second, that perhaps it was gone.

And then the voices returned. He supposed that the voices _simply _returning like some sort of stereo that had been turned off for a while would have been easier to curb, but it was nothing like something as simple as the increase of volume in his head.

Each voice slammed into his body with a heavy, suffocating force, knocking him to the ground. His knees scraped against the wood paneling, and the demons tried again, encircling his throat, waiting until he let out one anguished cry before slipping down the dark, moist canal, cackling as they filled his stomach, his blood, and finally, the organ they wanted the most—his brain.

They stretched his skull to the limit, and he swore he felt the bone split in two. He felt the dark liquid slip past his neck, an ugly green color, nothing like the emerald blurs in front of him. It was slick, and when it reached his hands he screamed, hysterical at the eyes staring back at him, a grotesque grin in the dark puddle seeping into his skin.

Then it began to fade away, and the shadows in his body began to lighten. Draco was vaguely aware of a pair of arms around him, and he went toward the warmth, knowing that it was futile to try. The chill that reached his bones would take a long time to go away.

His senses took a few moments to recover—his eyesight first. The skin resting against his body was olive, though strikingly tan against his own pallor. He would have flinched, and pulled away with a snarky comment, except he couldn't muster the energy to do so.

"—_possession _is going a bit far…"

"What, are you daft, you moron? Did you not see the way he fought?"

"Name-calling is hardly necessary, Severus—"

"I just think we need to know more before—"

Draco stopped trying to listen. He simply focused on the steadiness of the warm breaths slipping across his cheeks, slightly wetting them, and the strong heartbeat that thumped against the palm of his hand.

"I felt it too," Harry said, in a rough whisper, his chin sharply colliding with the bone of his shoulder as he shook, whether in exhaustion or fear he did not know.

Severus's cold stare sliced through them, and Draco jolted away from Harry as if he had suddenly been burnt.

"You can trust that I will get to the bottom of this, Mr. Malfoy," the man said finally, narrowing his eyes at the brunette parallel to him.

"Harry, dear, are you all right? Do you need to go to Madame Pomfrey's?"

The way McGonagall coddled him made him sick. Draco wanted to snap at her, glare at her with the same hatred she stared at him with. But he did nothing.

He wished her a fiery pit in hell.

ooooo

After telling the group of adults that he was _really _quite all right, Snape told them that they could have a bit of time to themselves, to rest. Harry's eyes nearly bulged out at the statement, and Snape just sneered back.

Malfoy just shrugged wearily and disappeared into the bathroom, where the running tap created a calming staccato against the white tile. The heat steamed past the crack of the door, hitting Harry's face, reminding him of how cold he actually was.

The blonde found him curled up in front of the fireplace, wrapped up in that ghastly red duvet, sipping at his tea.

Harry looked up at him, his eyes seeming much larger, childlike, even, and he asked, "Want some tea? There's some on the table there."

Draco joined him with his own cup of tea and _accio'_d his duvet, shuddering as he wrapped himself up in the fabric.

"Are you okay?"

Silver eyes narrowed. "Does it _look _like it, Potter?"

"Do you really have to counter every nice thing I say with a snarky comment?"

Draco just huffed, choosing to drink his tea instead of responding. Harry's hand met his free one, and he took it, running his fingertips across the pale skin lightly.

Harry climbed over to him, placing one hand on his rival's chest, and another beside his hip, his knees on either side of the blonde's left leg. The lighter boy fell against the floor lightly, his head held with Harry's hand.

"What are you—"

"Shut up," Harry interjected quietly, leaning in to kiss him before he could respond. Draco chose to obey, his heartbeat thrumming against his chest. He felt the Gryffindor's hand leave his skin for a moment, and then Harry parted from him, leaving the blonde to suffer the sudden cold alone.

In retrospect, Draco should have said something. A simple _no _would have sufficed. But he just followed Harry mutely, like some sort of puppet, and looked confused when Harry just crawled under his covers and stared at the ceiling.

"What?"

Wrapping one hand firmly into the fabric of his shirt, Draco clumsily put his legs on either side of the brunette's body, ignoring the jolt of pain that ran through his joints.

"I'm not done, Potter," he said, placing his lips firmly on the others, daring him to try and tell him otherwise. He nibbled the soft skin beneath his jaw, finding great pleasure in the surprised gasp that resulted from it.

He licked the same spot, quickly, and upon the tightening of the jaw against his skin, he smirked; bit down tightly, using his tongue to paint lazy circles as he sucked, each strangled gasp from the boy below him louder than the one prior.

He paused in the ministrations to remove the barrier of fabric between them, pulling the duvet around him and slipping one hand beneath the oversized shirt. Draco returned to his neck, swiping his tongue against the glistening bruise and his Adam's apple. Potter was gasping like a bitch in heat now, the stiff member roughly bucking against him as he placed one hand there.

"Do you want me to?" he asked coyly, leaning in close.

"Fuck, don't make me wait, you git," Harry snarled roughly against his lips, undoing his trousers himself.

"I think I will, Potter. After all," Draco smirked, "patience is a virtue. Now take off your shirt,"

Harry, in his blind, torturous desperation, did as he was told without thinking twice. He shuddered at the tongue that ran across his nipples, sucking once, making a whimper escape his throat.

Draco tasted the curl of hairs at the saviour's navel, smiling to himself as he felt the boy tremble beneath him. He pulled the trousers down roughly, applying a small amount of pressure to the straining bulge before him, and then pulled the briefs down, staring at the cock before him in curiosity.

He'd always assumed Harry's prick would have been small, because it was only fair if he got everything else in the whole bleeding world. Draco was momentarily disappointed to find that it wasn't small—just nicely average.

"Stop staring at it and _do _something!" whinged Harry, grabbing fistfuls of air beside him.

Before he thought about it, Draco let his tongue run along the underside of the organ quickly, surprised at the salty taste.

He chose to wrap one hand firmly around the base, moving his hand up and down as he licked experimentally at the leaking head, quite surprised at the dirty mouth Harry had—_fuck, fuck, fuck, don't stop you bastard, don't fucking stop._

He lowered his mouth around it then, and sucked a grand total of three times before Harry let out a strangled cry and let loose, the stream of salty come making Draco gag for a moment before pulling away.

"Christ, Potter, at least warn me before you do that," he snarked, wiping at his mouth before plopping down on his back. He shoved Harry's body, making more room for himself in the process.

Harry's eyes glittered, his lips holding an odd little smile—one of both predatory want and gratitude.

And then Harry started searching for the spot on his neck that made him melt into a mewling slave, and Draco stopped giving a damn about what smile was on the git's face.

Later, the brunette looked at him, quite sated, smiling that wobbly little smile. He captured Draco's lips with his own for a moment before pulling away and whispering, "Thanks."

_That _moment of gratitude lasted for a few minutes until Harry remembered what exactly had occurred.

"Oh, _fuck." _

"If you don't think about it, Scarhead, the afterglow is much more enjoyable," and Draco wrapped his hand behind the boy's neck, pulling him in before he could utter any more nonsense.

ooooo

The banging on the door pulled Malfoy out of his pleasant nap. He felt around for the boy beside him, about the shove him out of bed so _he _would have to answer it, but found nothing.

"Potter!" he yelled crossly, burying his head underneath his pillow, "Answer the damned thing!"

"I'm in the shower, you lazy arse, _you _answer it!"

The blonde pulled his wrinkled clothes on grumpily, wiping at his mouth with one sleeve before going into the loo and promptly flushing the toilet.

Harry's resulting scream made him smirk, and he sauntered off to answer the door. The banging persisted. He pulled the door open, swaying when the force of the air pushed past him, and glared at the last two of the Golden Trio.

"He's in the shower. Come back never," Malfoy said, his tone dripping with false sweetness as he prepared to shove the door in their faces.

Hermione just shoved past him, the Weasel looking far too smug as he followed.

Malfoy huffed and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. "Potter! Tell your lame friends to leave!"

Harry stepped around the fuming blonde and grabbed one of the green towels off the rack, toweling his hair.

"_Potter!" _Malfoy screeched angrily, "I'm _tired _and want _sleep!" _

"And who's fault was that?" Harry murmured, an uncharacteristic gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Malfoy gaped at him. Was Potter _flirting _with him?

Harry simply looked at him through half-lidded eyes, water falling gracefully from the wet lashes, and smirked. He pressed his wet skin to Malfoy's clothed form, looking far too pleased when the blonde pushed him away, griping about how he hated his clothes wet.

"You smell like me, you know." Harry said innocently, before leaving the room.

Malfoy sniffed at his shirt. _Damn it. _

Ron was about to make a comment to Hermione, as he eyed the closed door with large eyes, and the bushy-haired girl beat him to it, "Come off it, Ron. I'm sure Harry'll have a towel. It's not like they're _snogging _in there or anything."

"Still, 'Mione! It's _Malfoy," _whispered the red-head.

Harry looked at his friends briefly, his hair dripping onto the wood floor, and chose to disappear into the bedroom, slipping into the discarded jeans and shirt before padding out into the common room.

Hermione gave him a curious look.

"I can't believe it, mate!" Ron crowed, falling into a fit of giggles.

"Er, what?"

Ron pointed his finger at Harry, smirking, "_You _got shagged,"

"You're…glowing," Hermione added hesitantly.

The brunette took a look at his arm for a moment, making sure that he did not, in fact, glow. "No, I'm not!" Harry then protested, his face paling.

"There's also the giant love-bite," Ron pointed out.

Harry was going to kick Malfoy's arse for this.

"So, who was she? And how the _hell _did you get _Malfoy _to stay quiet? Didja hex 'im?"

"No one you know," Harry said quickly, trying to ignore the telltale signs of Hermione On a Mission, "besides, what are you doing here?"

"We wanted to visit you, make sure you were doing all right," the girl said absently, as the gears turned in her head. Snape would be coming by any minute, once he saw them there. Harry _couldn't _have had a girl over. And he would have noticed if Harry had left the room.

So that just left…

"We have to go, Ron, before we get in trouble," she blurted out, interrupting Ron's attempt to get the details of the night before from his friend.

She had a feeling if he had all the details, he'd be in front of a toilet.

Harry looked confused but relieved, Ron looked disappointed, and Malfoy chose that particular moment to saunter out, a towel around his hips.

All three Gryffindors stared, but Harry was the only one who hoped neither one of his friends noticed the light trail bruises on his shoulder.

To his immense relief, Ron seemed more focus on trading insults. Hermione looked at him knowingly, and he knew that he would be receiving an owl from her very soon. She dragged the boy out, her gaze never leaving his.

When the door shut, Malfoy sighed, _"Finally," _

"Oh no you don't," countered Harry, who followed him into the bedroom. He tried not to watch as the blonde pulled on his undergarments, but failed miserably.

"And why not?" asked Malfoy, with a sneer.

"Hermione knows,"

"Granger knows practically everything. Not that it's helped her fashion sense, any, but—"

"She knows what we did. Last night."

Malfoy seemed speechless for a moment, which was, in reality, very hard to do. His mouth open and shut for another moment, and then he finally said, "Well, deny it. Besides, who's going to believe her? Now shut up and let me sleep."

He slipped beneath his covers, giving Harry a wave as to dismiss him.

"You're such an arsehole! _You _got me into this mess, so _you _have to help me!"

"Takes two to tango," Draco murmured, burying his head under the blankets.

Harry let out a frustrated sigh and stalked away, vowing to hide the boy's precious shampoo where he couldn't find them.


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione Granger was good at many things. Memorizing spells, for example. Reading ridiculously large books in short spans of time from cover-to-cover. Making quite a few of her fellow Gryffindors seem fairly lazy; the Ravenclaws never bothered to hide their envy at her grades.

When it came to love lives, particularly between two people who were supposed to hate each other until the end of time, she was, unfortunately, lacking in skill. The dismay had actually caused a twinge in her chest for a moment when she realized she could not consult her beloved books for this…_fiasco. _

She hoped that the calming atmosphere of the library would help her tackle this…delicate subject. The library always had a way of making her feel better when everything else had failed. She also knew Ron wouldn't try to find her, as he loathed the library and its countless uses. A pity, really. It was enriching, in a way. She snapped from her misty-eyed jaunt down memory lane about education and focused on the task at hand.

Harry dating a boy wasn't what bothered her—she felt a bit befuddled at the occurrence, yes, but she loved Harry for _Harry, _not who he decided to take to his bedroom.

Except when that person was Draco Malfoy. She had to have her say in that—it just wasn't _natural, _to suddenly…act quite the opposite with someone Harry had threatened with hexes time and time again. It was just…how was she supposed to say all that without sounding like a total _bint? _

She bit her lip in trepidation, and set her dark quill to the parchment. The ink sank into the dry surface, creating a blot where she had let it set for too long. Blowing a gust of air into her face irritably, she began writing—this would just be the draft, she supposed. She could perfect it later.

_Dear Harry, _she began, pausing, wondering if the greeting was too formal. Harry wouldn't care; not when he was probably waiting for a howler from her. Well, she would be mature, and try not to assume—though that was very hard.

_I couldn't help but notice some…parallels between your and Malfoy's behavior. You're lucky Ron didn't notice; you know how he'd react—not even a calming draught would help. _

_Perhaps I'm jumping to conclusions, but you know you can talk to me, Harry. And if Malfoy made you do something you wouldn't have done otherwise…well, you can tell me, and we'll decide what to do together. _

Hermione frowned. She was writing as if her best friend had been raped, or taken advantage of—she wouldn't put it past Malfoy, actually, but Harry hadn't _acted _like the git had done anything wrong. Besides existing and making his life miserable, of course.

She crossed out the second paragraph with a sigh and tried to continue.

_Harry, you'd tell me if…you'd been intimate with him, wouldn't you? I'm not here to judge, I just want to help. I don't want him hurting you._

A low growl escaped her throat, startling the second-year who had been a few tables over. Now she sounded like she was trying to counsel an abused spouse.

Perhaps the direct approach was best.

_Harry—you and Malfoy? How? And _why_?_

There. That would have to do. She had quite a bit of homework to catch up on, after all.

ooooo

His blonde roommate had grown cross with him ages ago, and threw plenty of barbs about his constant pacing. It figured the git wouldn't understand, he probably didn't _have _any friends. Real ones, at least.

Harry felt a swell of pity build up in his chest, but dismissed it quickly. He would examine his soppy emotions later.

"For Merlin's sake, will you at least sit _down?" _Malfoy was perched regally upon the loveseat, his face contorted in irritation as Harry ignored him.

Neither of them had spoken about what had transpired the night before, and Harry thought it best. It was a complex subject to begin with. He chose to believe that he was still heterosexual, and was just using Malfoy in desperation. It was a poor excuse, but his conscience was easily convinced when it needed to be.

"Potter," Draco snapped, raising his wand threateningly, "I am not opposed to throwing a body-binding curse your way. _Sit down _and shut it."

Harry's green gaze regarded him wearily, realizing that his wand was in the bedroom and he hadn't any hope to deflect the curse even if he tried. His lips twisted into a scowl and he plopped down, ungracefully, into the large armchair beside the place Malfoy lounged.

The blonde looked far too smug, so Harry flicked his forehead. He was adorably bewildered at first (Harry also chose not to think about the adjectives he had attached to the blonde as of late), but smirked after and flicked his cheek.

The Gryffindor wasn't sure what would have occurred if they hadn't been interrupted. Malfoy gazed at him with half-lidded eyes, the light grey orbs peeking though light eyelashes. Harry felt the familiar stirring of _something, _but he was uncomfortable to affix it to lust. It certainly _seemed _like it, at least, but he hoped he was wrong.

The large barn owl ruffled its feathers in irritation when Harry tried to grab the letter. Malfoy, far too quick for his taste, had the letter between two fingers when he waved the creature away, ignoring its defeated cry when it realized it was not receiving treats. The spell had been broken, and Malfoy was back to being characteristically Malfoy.

He tried to grab the letter away, but the blonde had dodged his hand easily and opened the letter, sneering at the Gryffindor seal on the back.

"Your mudblood friend wants to know if we've shagged," he uttered bluntly, and if Harry hadn't been in shock when he realized Malfoy didn't _care, _he would have snapped at him for the derogative remark.

A long moment had passed when Harry muttered, in a half-hearted anger, "Don't call her that."

Malfoy, as predicted, ignored it. "What are you going to tell her?"

Two lean shoulders brushed his cheeks as he shrugged. "Dunno. We could say we got drunk on firewhiskey," flinching when the boy across from him let out a bitter laugh.

"Like Granger would really believe that. You're rather transparent, for being a celebrity and all,"

"What do you expect me to say, then?" Harry snarled, irritated at how aloof the blonde was being about the whole situation.

Malfoy had an odd little smile on his face, his eyes showing some indecipherable emotion when he responded. "Tell her the truth."

"That we still hate each other, but like to snog on a daily basis?" His tone was dry, reflecting the irritation and rising anger he felt—the anger that should have first arisen when Malfoy had uttered the derogatory name about Hermione.

"You're a terrible liar, like I said. Might as well own up to it and hope she lets the subject go."

"She'd never do that."

Malfoy frowned. "I know. But she's _your _friend, not mine. Therefore I do not need to be part of this."

"Aren't you the one who said it took two to tango?" He pointed out smugly.

The mercury eyes observed him blankly, almost innocently. "I don't owe you anything. _You _deal with it, because it seems to matter far too much with you."

And then Malfoy left, sauntering past, and Harry noticed that the boy's bum was beginning to fill out. It was rather nice, being a Slytherin's and all. He smacked himself in the face, muttering that he _shouldn't _notice such things about a boy, much less _Malfoy. _

Harry grunted in anger, and entered the bathroom to take the boy's numerous hair products and hide them. It was a poor stab at him, but meaningful enough to piss the other off.

He paused, staring at the toilet for a moment. A wicked grin—something quite Slytherin indeed—skittered across his face. Harry had a better idea.

ooooo

It was late when Ron decided to head back to the common room—he'd had no motivation to do any of his coursework and knew that Hermione was busy these days, but it was still wise to avoid her when she was in the middle of one of her frenzies. He stood in front of the portrait, looked around quickly, and whispered, _"Nargles." _

Inside, Seamus and Neville were playing chess, something that seemed peculiar in itself. Hermione was also nowhere in sight, and the ginger-haired teen frowned. It was far too quiet. Even _he _wasn't that oblivious.

In typical irony, a large owl slammed against the window. Ron jumped, and looked incredulously at the creature who flew into the room, crashing into the loungechair.

"Barmy, do you think?" mumbled Seamus, eyeing the fluttering owl suspiciously.

"Probably." He lifted the letter attached to the owl's leg—it squawked, having a certain dislike to being held upside down from a piece of twine—and snapped the connection with his fingers.

It was addressed to Hermione. In Harry's writing. Ron shrugged. He wouldn't mind if he read it first. They were best mates, after all.

A few seconds later, after he had read the parchment, he thought, feeling quite disturbed, _perhaps Harry would have minded._

"'_Mione!" _screeched Ron, ignoring the severe expression on Madame Pince's face as she leered at him over a tattered copy of _Albus Dumbledore—The True Account. _How something fairly modern could adopt such an antiqued appearance, Ron did not know. Nor did he particularly care, as there were more important things to attend to.

"What, Ron!" snapped Hermione angrily, her expression softening as her eyes met his.

"_Malfoy…Malfoy and…Malfoy?!" _

To anyone else the sharp whisper would have seemed to be complete nonsense.

The girl staring at him understood, and Ron felt a little relieved when she began packing her things and shooting him a look to shut his mouth until they were alone. He'd never tell her, but 'Mione had a way of making things a little bit better.

That relief was short lived, when it hit him, a sharp, quick motion effectively scooping out his chest and leaving him feeling hollow—_Harry Potter was shagging Draco Malfoy!_

"Does anything seem odd to you?" she asked, when they finally reached the girls' bathroom—the same place she had turned into a cat. Her nose curled at the memory.

"Does it matter! Harry is shagging Malfoy!" Ron all but squealed, turning beet red in a moment.

Well, the letter hadn't mentioned the act of _shagging, _per se, but what else could the term _intimate _suggest?

_We were intimate once. It was a mistake and won't happen again. I reckon we had too much to drink and it just got out of hand…_

Ron had stopped reading after that sentence.

The shorter girl frowned, drumming her fingers on her chin, that magnificent brain of hers piecing the facts together like the encyclopedia that she was. A moment passed, and then the light in her eyes shone—the light that told everyone she'd figured out whatever problem she had been analyzing.

"Moaning Myrtle, she isn't here!"

Ron shrugged. "Maybe she's off haunting the boys' lavatory."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I don't think so."

"Harry's more important! We have to get him out of there, before…before…well, I don't know, but he can't stay with Malfoy a second longer!"

Hermione had a bemused and slightly sympathetic smile on her face, one that she had adopted years ago when she and Ron had become friends. "Ron, you know we can't take him away. You don't want Harry to go mad, do you?"

The boy visibly deflated, ignoring the soothing pats on his arm.

ooooo

If there was one flaw that Harry had to point out about himself, it would have been impatience. He was notorious for his bullheadedness and simply dashing out to do whatever he felt he needed to do without really thinking about it beforehand. Hermione had stopped him before, being the sensible girl she was, but he didn't have her right now. In fact, she was part of the problem.

She hadn't responded to his letter and his mind was conjuring up all sorts of horrendous outcomes that could have been as a result of her late reply. Suppose the owl got lost, and dropped the letter to a _Hufflepuff? _They loved gossip, and his torrid affair with one particular Slytherin would be around the school in an instant.

Or worse, what if _Snape _got ahold of it? Merlin knows what _he _would do, seeing as the boy he hated had defiled his beloved student.

"_Potter!" _Malfoy howled, splitting into his anxious thoughts like fire, "_Where _are my hair products?"

_Oh, good, _thought Harry, _I could use a distraction right now. _

He pretended to pick at his nails in disinterest—something so very Malfoy that he was sure it would irritate him further—and remarked coolly that his precious bottles of expensive French product were probably circling in a cesspool of waste.

The amount of redness that flamed the blonde's typical pale veneer was actually quite humorous. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen Malfoy so…_livid _before.

"Red isn't a good color for you," Harry helpfully commented, smiling with false cheer.

A nasty roar bubbled out of the other boy's sneering mouth, and he launched himself onto the shorter boy's form, ignoring the seeping blood that stained his lips when his mouth knocked against one of his elbows painfully.

"You're paying for that, Scarhead," snarled Malfoy, his lips dripping with a mixture of saliva and the coppery taste currently filling his mouth.

"Why? It's not like you were using it anyway," pointed out Harry, holding Malfoy down with a bit of effort.

There was a moment of silence, and then an idea formed in the blonde's mind. He was careful not to show it, lest Potter decide to move and ruin his quite brilliant idea, if he could say so.

The aforementioned brunette regarded him curiously, and he mentally scoffed. That boy really needed to learn to be a little less oblivious. He raised his chin, moving closer to Potter's now flushed face, and a little closer, until the green orbs were sheathed with olive eyelids.

His lips barely grazed Potter's skin when he took hold of the glasses with his teeth, tearing them away in a quick moment.

Harry actually stared at him, in an expression that was comically twisted with surprise and confusion, his mouth gaping at him like the fish he portrayed.

Malfoy took that moment to scramble away from Harry's loosened grip, holding onto the glasses for dear life as he dashed into the bedroom.

With a victorious smile, the blonde settled upon his bed with a sigh, playing with the glasses in his hands.

There were a few crashes, a long line of curses, and one angered roar.

"Can't see, Potter? Oh dear, whatever will you do?"

The mockery made him angrier, but Harry was still trying to differentiate between the blurs of colors in front of him. His arm was stuck in something, and he wasn't sure what it was. He pulled away, and a loud tear filled his head. He wondered what it was. His shirt, maybe?

Malfoy watched as the boy teetered dangerously, fell straight on his arse, and then, deciding that perhaps walking was not an activity suited for the blind, _crawled. _His hands felt around the doorframe, paused, and then he continued his quest to find his spectacles. Out of pure dumb luck, definitely of the Gryffindor variety, his cheek brushed against the warm leg of a certain Slytherin.

"Gotcha!" Potter whispered in conquest, using the warmth emanating from the blonde to find the way to the surface in which he was currently frozen upon, his breathing shallow.

"Potter," Draco managed to drawl, "will you please stop fondling me?" The boy's hand was nowhere near the vicinity of his crotch, but he didn't need to know that.

A blush rose upon the darker-haired boy's cheeks, and he drew his hand back sharply. "May I have my glasses back?"

Draco snorted. "Will I get my hair products back?"

"I'll try to get them back somehow. Now may I _please _have my glasses back?"

"No." It was smug, and Harry was sure the git was just beside himself with glee.

"Malfoy, you arsehole!"

Harry rose to sit on the bed, though his body was met with the hard resistance of the floor. Perhaps it had something to do with Malfoy shoving him. Gravity was a pesky thing.

"Come on," grumbled Harry, who sat on the floor crosslegged, crossing his arms. Draco found himself staring at his lower lip, which was jutted out in an uncharacteristic pout.

"Are you _actually_ pouting?" asked the blonde boy, with an amused guffaw.

"No," stated the other, though it came out in a long whinge.

"Here, you sop," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes.

The glasses landed in Harry's lap and he put them on, a relieved sigh escaping his lips.

"For a second, I didn't think you'd ever give them back."

Malfoy raised a brow. "What good are you to me blind? I do need you to get my things back," he paused, and then added with a wicked smile, "Perhaps I'll hide them after."


	14. Chapter 14

If you asked Harry, he would have said The Change happened when he saw the other boy smile—for the first time—when he entered the room.

If you asked Draco, _he _would have said The Change happened a few days prior, when Harry looked at him owlishly through his glasses, finally receiving them back from his snarky counterpart.

If you asked both of them, at the same time, they would tell you nothing at all.

"Damn it, Potter," snapped Draco, wiping at his face, "Watch where you shake that lice-bedded mop of yours. I have no interest in accumulating _your _filth."

Harry stared at him, a wry smile on his face. "You live with me." He dropped his towel, wriggling into a pair of boxes. The blonde gaped.

"Have you no shred of decency?! You _really _have been hanging about with the Weasleys far too much."

"Malfoy," the other boy answered, rolling his eyes, "You've seen me naked. And even if you hadn't, we'd still have the same bits, and what's so indecent about that?"

"You are _never _meeting my mother, Potter."

Harry held him to the wall with an intense, glittering stare. And then a curious smile tilted his lips, and his brows furrowed. "Why would I meet your mother?"

The blonde looked positively gobsmacked at that, and he faintly wondered why he had suggested it in the first place. "I dunno," Draco snapped, huffing slightly.

"You're such a _girl _when you don't want to talk about things," prodded Harry, who, after getting fully dressed, promptly flopped onto the available space on the Slytherin's bed. Draco tried to ignore him. Harry poked him in the shoulder.

"Why are you sitting _here?"_ whined the taller boy, who sank down deeper into his soft pillows in the process of crossing his arms, "I hate you and _you _hate me!"

There was a short silence. "Technically," began Harry, very seriously, "I am lying down. And I don't hate you. You don't hate me either."

"Oh?" answered Draco with a scoff, "And, where, pray tell, did you get these answers? If I remember correctly, you never _were _one for the art of deduction."

Harry took a while to answer, choosing to immerse himself in trying to get under the duvet without using his arms. With an irritable mutter, his bedmate tossed it over him.

"Well, a month ago, if I had flushed your precious _shampoos _down the toilet, you'd have Avada'd me for that. Instead you giggled like a schoolgirl while I wandered around blind. Therefore, you don't hate me."

Draco scowled. "I did not _giggle. _Malfoys do not do such childish things,"

"Like stealing another person's eyeglasses and watching as he crawls about?" asked Harry, with a knowing grin.

"That," said the other boy, pointing one pale index finger in his face, "was revenge. _Not _child's play."

The brunette just shrugged. "Want to know another reason why I know you don't hate me?"

"Oh, please grace me with your Gryffindor intellect—neither are synonymous, so I very much doubt you have much of the latter."

Harry got that odd look on his face again, the one that made Draco a little nervous, because while he could typically read that boy's face, this was the only one that he couldn't read. He sat up, shoulder-to-shoulder with the form next to him, and looked, his chin bumping the headboard.

"If you really hated me, you wouldn't let me do this," he whispered breathily, and kissed him.

He tasted of mint—that horrid muggle toothpaste he insisted on using. Except, when mingled with the taste of _Harry, _it wasn't so bad.

When they parted, Draco simply stared at him for a moment, and then said, "Okay, so I don't hate you, but I still _really _dislike you."

"Mm-hmm," answered the other dismissively, leaning in again, taking the soft pale skin of his neck in between his teeth.

He paused a moment later, and the blonde noticed the chill of the air that brushed against his skin when Potter pulled away.

"_Still dislike me?" _whispered Potter, eyes gloriously half-lidded, lips red and parted, a stupid, dopey grin on his face that would have looked terrible on any other.

"_Not really." _Draco whispered back, and kissed him hard.

oooo

Ron was temporarily distracted from the defilement of his best friend when Hermione told them that they needed to go to the library, and promptly dragged him along before he could run. Now they were slumped over books at a table—Hermione looking even more irritated as she skimmed each book within her sight, and Ron looking more and more sleepy as she muttered under her breath.

"Any luck, Ronald?"

The ginger-haired boy snorted, then snapped awake. "What?"

"Have you read _anything _at all?" A twitch was visible when Hermione turned to face him. Ron recognized this as a sign that he'd better think of something good to say, and fast.

"Er…No, can't find anything."

Well, that wasn't _good. _

Hermione would have let loose of all of her rage and stress on him if he hadn't chosen that moment to knock over a still unread ancient volume of text. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he waited to hear the snarl of doom that accompanied the girl when she was in this state. Instead, he heard, quite clearly, "Ron, you beautiful idiot, that's perfect!"

And then she was gone, and Ron was left feeling quite befuddled.

Hermione was rushing past the gaggle of first years who squealed when one fell, but the taller girl paid no mind. She simply held the book closer to her chest and barreled through some meatier Quidditch players, nearly toppling over in the process.

She stopped at the Headmistress's quarters, breathing heavily and feeling a bit faint, but she plowed through regardless—passwords were no longer a necessity for her, as McGonagall had allowed her (and only her) to come to her at anytime.

Snape looked quite annoyed, and had he been in anyone else's chambers, he would have deducted house points immediately. Instead he settled for sneering—and was surprised when Hermione sneered back.

"It's Moaning Myrtle," she blurted out, taking the text from her arms and turning to the right page, "_She's _why Malfoy and Harry are stuck."

"Miss Granger, please explain your need for bursting through here, _uninvited, _might I add, in coherent sentences." Snape ground out.

Hermione took a breath, accepting the glass of water McGonagall had fetched for her, and sipped for a moment.

"That night Harry and Malfoy dueled—Harry used the Sectumsempra spell, didn't he?"

Snape's irritated sigh told her to continue.

"And _you, _Professor," Hermione looked at Severus pointedly, "thought that he used it once. But who's to say he didn't use it twice? There were mirrors in that room—mirrors that could cause a ricochet, like a muggle bullet.

"Only the other spell hit Myrtle, and she was split in half. And when ghosts get split in half—"

"They possess the nearest form in the room," Severus whispered, uncharacteristically quiet, his splayed fingers pressed together underneath his chin.

"Normally, the two halves enter the same person, and use the body as a sort of vessel to heal, except this time one half when into Malfoy, and the other into Harry. Myrtle's been trying to heal all this time, and _that's _why they've been drawn together."

McGonagall looked quite pleased. "Very good work, Miss Granger. Very good work indeed." She put a hand on the younger girl's shoulder, patting it for a moment.

"Severus, will you ready the materials and meet me at the boys' room? I'll go ahead and inform them of this."

Hermione followed her Headmistress out. "What will you do?" She hadn't read far enough to know about the procedure.

McGonagall sighed, frowning slightly, "Do you know what an exorcism is?"

Hermione nodded.

"Instead of using religious properties that the muggles try to use—those are typically ineffective—we have to do three things. We have to find an object to represent the birth of the spirit—in this case, the basilisk fang—and have both Harry and Malfoy be in possession of it.

"We also must create the setting in which Myrtle was hit with the spell to begin with—so we have to take them both back to the place where it started. And the last step is perhaps the hardest. The last step…"

McGonagall sighed, and gave her pupil a weary smile. "Harry will be fine, dear, and will be returned to you and your friends quite soon."

oooo

As punishment for flushing all of his hair products away, Draco demanded that Harry at least wash his hair _for _him. It was quite possibly one of the most thinly veiled attempts to get a blowjob, but neither of them commented on it.

"I rather like you here, Potter, to do these things for me," murmured Draco pleasantly, as the other massaged his scalp, "Perhaps I will hire you as my personal assistant."

"Will I get sucked off as payment?" Harry asked, licking lazily at the shell of the other boy's ear, ignoring the bitter taste of shampoo mixed with the warm water.

"So crude," sighed Malfoy, rubbing at his hair as he let it rinse.

"Oh, shut it," said Harry playfully, "You know it adore it."

One silver eye regarded him beneath soapy eyelashes. He cursed a moment later, howling about the burning.

"Stoppit," the blonde pouted, watching Harry laugh with bloodshot eyes, "It hurt." A sly grin replaced the jutted lower lip as he suggested what the Gryffindor could do to distract him from such painful matters.

"Hmm," Harry said, tugging gently at the hardening member brushing against his own, "Or I could find out what I have to do to make you _beg." _The emerald eyes glittered with arousal at the thought.

"And you could be left to your own hand for the remainder of the shower," Malfoy pointed out prissily.

Harry just smirked.

oooo

"Professor?" called out Hermione quickly, before she lost her nerve. The older woman stopped and turned her head, waiting. "I, er, I think it's best if you knock before you enter."

Before Minerva could ask why it was necessary, Snape appeared beside her, looking as disappointed as usual. The woman simply nodded and continued on her way.

oooo

"Potter, if you don't stop wriggling, this will be the last time I allow you to sleep with me," sniped Draco, pulling the blankets closer to him.

"You do mean that in the literal sense. And anyway, _you're _the one with cold feet."

Malfoy kicked him. "Let me nap, you git."

"Will you let me have an extra pillow?"

"No."

"But you have four!"

"My neck is delicate, Potter. I'm sure yours will be just fine with the mattress."

"You're mean. Why do I put up with you?"

"Because we're stuck with each other?"

"Psh, you _like _being stuck with me now." Harry turned to face Draco, placing his head in the crook of Draco's neck. "You make a rather bony pillow." He nestled in closer.

"You're _breathing _on me. How do you expect me to get to sleep if you keep tickling me?"

Harry's lips curled into a grin. "You're ticklish?"

"Harry fucking Potter, I swear if you—" A squeal escaped his throat.

A minute later, with a flushed and giggling Draco promptly distracted, spitting out phrases like "You arse," and "Sleep with one eye open, Potter," Harry stole a pillow.


	15. Chapter 15

The day had finally come. It was one Harry had been trying to not think about, one that he hoped would be much farther off than it was. He laughed bitterly. Almost six weeks ago, if someone had told him he'd _want _to stay with Malfoy, he'd have called them mad.

A sharp jab brought him out of his thoughts, and he followed the three other figures out of the room, dreading what he would have to do.

It was eerie, going back to that place. Seeing Draco there, reflected in the glass. Actually _seeing _Draco as a person, not as the bully that he'd prided himself to be.

The blonde was standoffish—he refused to look the Gryffindor in the eye. Uncharacteristically, he seemed to accept what was expected of him without one word.

A sharp object was placed in his hand, and upon closer inspection he saw it to be the tooth of the basilisk. That seemed so long ago, Ginny and Tom Riddle and his life in general—it seemed to be some faraway dream, barely there.

Snape nodded, lifeless dark pits staring at him intensely. "You know what to do, Potter. I'll be waiting."

The brunette nodded and licked his lips, dragging his stare to meet the blonde's in front of him.

"I don't want to do this, Draco," he whispered, "Isn't there some other way?"

"You know there isn't, Potter," was Malfoy's response, his tone thick and flat at the same time, "So get on with it."

Harry just stood, motionless for a moment, and the familiar rage that Harry usually saw from Malfoy—it flickered in his mercury orbs and he raised his wand, hissing out a spell. He dodged it, swallowing thickly and then muttering, with closed eyes, the spell that had caused all this in the first place.

When he chose to open them again, his surroundings were distorted, colors blurring into one another as he sank further and further down into pools of grey. A strange sensation was crawling through his throat, like a spider was skittering across that moist skin, and he coughed and hacked but the feeling persisted.

The colors began to change, from grey to white, but Harry stopped caring and slipped into the comfort of his own mind.

When he awoke, Harry saw three pairs of eyes on him. None of them were Draco's. Since when was Malfoy _Draco? _But Harry nonetheless called him by his first given name. It made him feel closer, somehow, more important, even. Dimly, in the back of his mind, Harry realized he was treading a very thin line—one that was going to snap soon.

Hermione wrapped him in a tight hug, and Ron had to peel her off. Her eyes were wet, cheeks lightly pink. Ron stood by his bed awkwardly, and then gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Good to have you back, mate."

Harry nodded. "Is Draco okay?"

The second the words slipped out of his mouth, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. Ron visibly blanched, Hermione sighed, and Snape frowned. Nonetheless, he was relieved to hear he was fine and had been discharged a few hours prior.

The dark-haired man dismissed the two students, snarking about how their precious savior would join them soon.

"I feel odd," mumbled Harry, and Snape told him acidly that Myrtle would be out of his system soon. There was no doubt the professor thought Harry was complaining, but the boy knew it was futile to try and convince him otherwise.

"I suggest you leave, Potter, and have supper before you retire tonight," Harry stood up to leave, and was a few steps from the doorway when Snape clamped an icy hand on his shoulder. "And Potter? Leave Mr. Malfoy alone."

The brunette chose not to respond. Snape was intimidating, sure—but not intimidating enough to keep him away from Malfoy. At least for one more time.

The Great Hall erupted into whispers and applause when Harry entered. He wondered what coverstory the Hogwarts staff had fed his peers to generate such a response. It was humiliating, something that Malfoy would have made an snappy retort about, and his ears were scorched red throughout the meal. Hermione and Ron gave him awkward, tight-lipped smiles—smiles that suggested he was in for a real badgering when they returned to the common room.

Draco was not there.

Well, fine, he could play that game—but Harry would find him eventually. He couldn't hide forever.

He was unable to get away from the crowd of students that night. Everyone wanted to hear his account of his adventure. Ironically, Harry seemed to be the only person who did not know about the adventure everyone was chattering about, nor did he care. He wanted to be alone, to think and to plan.

Instead, there was a seat waiting for him by the fire, and numerous pairs of eyes glittering up at him. _You had your break from your expectations,_ they all seemed to say, _and now you have to return to us._

He hated being Harry Potter.

ooooo

His ribs ached, his skull pounded, and his body seemed to weigh a ton—each limb hanging uselessly as he stared at the ceiling. Snape told him he would be sore for a few days, and gave him some potions that would help. The pain didn't bother him, not really. The silence, though, was uncomfortable.

Draco wondered how Potter was faring. He was probably having the time of his life—all the typical female students swooning. Hell, there was probably a giant celebration for The-Boy-Who-Lived—one with plenty of sweets and illegal firewhiskey, plenty of chattering, laughs, compliments…

Stupid Potter. It was going to be an absolute bear to see him in Potions tomorrow. Things were back to normal now, and they would be back on last-name terms, hurling insults and hexes and glares.

The mere thought of facing everyone made Draco want to hide under his bed like a child. There was only one small comfort—his hair was back. His normally stoic mentor had rolled his eyes at Madame Pomfrey's response to Draco's earlier request and assisted him in that regard as well. At least he wouldn't look like a total moron when they stared.

The next morning, he considered hiding under the bed for at least part of the morning. It was large enough to hide some essentials, like food and maybe a book or two. Maybe he would never leave at all. Draco supposed all the dust wouldn't do much for his hair, and in the end decided just to stare intently at his hands for most of the day. Denial had very rarely failed him before, after all.

He spent far too much time staring in the mirror. Not in admiration of his attractive features, necessarily, but in an attempt to gather up as much courage as he possibly could. So far, it was not working very well.

"Draco Malfoy," he told himself sternly, "you are going to walk out of this room and into that hall with the most grace and elegance you can possibly manage. You are _not _going to shake in the slightest, or show _any _indication of your trepidation." He paused, and then, as an afterthought, added, "And you most certainly are _not _going to look at Potter. At all. Not even for a _moment." _

A few first-year Hufflepuffs stared at him when he exited the room, but he paid them no mind. If there was one thing Draco thought himself skilled at, besides Potions, it was feigning confidence. His first few points—strutting with elegance, holding his head high, eyes firmly staring at the hair of everyone who looked back at him—were delivered quite beautifully.

He even managed to seat himself at the Slytherin table without faltering, which was a feat in itself as most of his house was intent on _not _having room for his presence. The stares of his peers were firmly placed on his form, prickling his skin as he ate, but fifteen minutes managed to pass and no one said a word. The rising stampede of students heading to their classes made him sigh in relief. Perhaps today wouldn't be so bad after all.

Potions was fairly decent. Most students kept to themselves, as no one dared to make an insult with Snape around. His godfather would be unable to protect him forever, and Malfoy decided that hiding under his bed was sounding better and better the more he thought about it. Even Potter was distracted by his caretakers, which made it easier to stare every few moments. The Weasel noticed, though, and sneered at him. Draco kept his eyes trained on his textbook after that.

He waited for the entire class to depart before leaving. Here, in the quiet classroom, with liquids bubbling merrily, it was quite peaceful. Out _there, _beyond the safety of the door, was a wilderness that he didn't want to face alone. There was always peace before a storm, however, and a storm was brewing, whether he chose to hide like a coward or not.

Potter was waiting for him, leaning against the windowsill, pretending to be very interested in a flock of birds outside. The blonde knew better, but tried to walk past him regardless.

Green eyes held him quietly for a moment, and then the brunette spoke.

"I don't want it to be like this." He said, quietly, returning his gaze to the creatures outside.

"Potter," muttered Draco irritably, "we have no choice."

"Draco—"

"Don't call me that!" he snapped, and stalked away before the other boy could say another word.

ooooo

Harry was everywhere. In the shadows, dark hair whipping around him in silent fury. In the small cracks of stone, eyes gleaming like the orbs of a hungry predator. Among the masses of students, breathing down his neck, so, _so _close and yet so far away.

Harry was nowhere. When he turned to meet the shadow's fury, there was only the empty air to greet him. When he snarled back at the predators hunting him through the walls, there was only the steady stream of sunlight to laugh at him. When he turned to face Potter, to drink him in, to take him away, his savior was gone, merely a bystander in his place, staring back in guarded curiosity.

In his dreams there were flashes of skin, of venomous words, smiles, laughter. Kisses that told him what the other could not speak. He awoke every morning, sleepily searching for Potter's form beside him or at the table, and was greeted with the same loneliness at the door, like a mangy mutt that refused to go.

During classes Potter kept up appearances, always so very careful to never met his own baleful gaze. Draco had memorized the back of his head—the dark tresses that twined against olive skin like a wild mass of forestry that could never be tamed. He counted the dark freckles, imagined brushing them with his fingertips.

It was as if the prior month had never occurred. But he knew it had.

He knew Potter tasted like something he would never find on another. He craved it, craved the taste and the touch and the _smell. _

He knew it was real.

ooooo

Draco was haunting him. Sharp, glittering icicles pointed at him, trained to spear, to rip into his flesh. His scent—the faint lingering of sweetness mixed with musk, something so very Malfoy—infiltrated his senses, made him drunk with anger, disappointment, lust, and sadness. His skin, paper-white snow, always in the corner of his eye, taunted him, begging to be licked and devoured.

Draco was a faint whisper, never visible. The icicles never made their descent into his skin. The scent would waft by, replaced by something much less pleasant. Bones stretching that soft, unperfect skin, marred with the repercussions of naiveté and pride, flashed temptingly to only be hidden when he searched further.

Recoiled into himself, his outer shell a vague notion of what he was, he focused on whatever task was at hand. If there was no task to be completed, he disappeared, eyes glazed as he huddled further into the recesses of his thoughts. He rarely spoke—his voice was rough, a sharp warning for those who dared to try and come closer.

Harry suspected there were endless taunts, catcalls. Not-so-accidental physical shoves against the walls, his clothes the only thing shielding his body from further harm. His own house was the more notorious for the abuse—what Draco had really done was beyond him, but he supposed the Malfoy family's status in the pureblood hierarchy had been destroyed, and the youngest of the current hierarchy were simply carrying out what their parents told them.

Everything was glazed over, his life reduced to a mere play he had long memorized the script for.

He needed an escape.

He needed Draco.

ooooo

It had been two long, miserable weeks. Harry's impulsivity had festered and grown until he could no longer stand it. With the aid of his Marauder's map and invisibility cloak, he tracked down the boy he needed to talk to. Hell, he'd settle for just seeing him—and have him look back.

The thin line they had been treading was threatening to snap.

He managed to sneak past the slumbering Gryffindors, Seamus only twitching once when he banged into a corner. The cold halls looked more menacing at night, and he stopped numerous times, his breath hitching when he thought he heard a sound.

When the plain wooden door stared back at him, Harry paused, wondering if he really should go forth with his hastily put-together plan. He actually did not have one—that was the downfall of impulses.

Raising a clenched, whitened fist, he knocked firmly.

The time it took for Draco to answer seemed like forever. But he did, and regarded the brunette before him with a tired irritation that Malfoys could only muster and seem ravishing at the same time.

Harry offered a small, nervous smile. "Couldn't sleep."

Draco stared, wordlessly battling the thoughts in his head. "Just for tonight," he whispered, stepping aside to allow access. The closeness of Potter's body to his created a friction that buzzed in his head. The visitor looked around at the familiar surroundings, already feeling a peace he'd missed sorely.

"Your bed is still here." It was a quiet, awkward statement, meant to fill the silence and fulfill a silent point—_things are not going to change, Potter. _

The other boy found himself unable to speak, so he simply nodded. Unsure to simply go into the room without asking or to let Draco lead him, he stood there uselessly for several long moments.

"I miss you," he blurted out, after which he was both appalled and humiliated for saying.

Malfoy only gave him a slight nod, choosing not to comment, and retreated to the bedroom.

That room filled Harry's head with several memories—the kisses, the fights, the blind chase. He felt overwhelmed, but tried to hide it by fussing with the red pillows on his bed.

He was about to kick off his shoes and hang his cloak up on one of the bedposts when he felt the blonde's icicle-stare on him. He chose to lay the cloak on his bed and slowly removed the shoes instead, trying to regulate his breathing.

"Potter." Malfoy tried, and when the other didn't turn to look at him, he spoke again, barely a whisper, echoing, "Potter."

Green eyes slowly met his own.

Somehow, Malfoy was able to reach him in two long strides, and he was so very close then, whispering his name a final time, his scent filling his head and dizzying Potter until he wrapped his hands around the thin neck and kissed him.

It was not slow and romantic, like the Muggle films. It was frantic, heavy breaths expelled as they tried to get closer, tried to fill all of their yearning as soon as they could.

Malfoy's tongue—god, that tongue—swiped Harry's lower lip and soon they were unclothed and tasting, clawing at the skin, biting and sucking, trying to consume each other as much as they could.

Potter's eyes shot open in surprise when he felt that curious friction between his legs, and grey eyes met his own, questioning.

"It'll hurt," he said.

"I don't care," whispered the lion, breathing harshly.

That was the night he truly felt ecstasy, the night he realized pain could feel good, Malfoy's whimpering filling the night air as Harry grappled for strength, his eyes squeezed shut as that lovely, brilliant bundle of nerves, neglected, erupted in a tingling that reached his very bones.

After, when their breathing settled, hands and legs entwined, Harry's lips brushing the bony shoulder of his snake counterpart, there were no more words expelled.

There didn't need to be.

The blonde awoke later, almost convinced the prior night had been some very glorious dream, that reality would soon crush him as it typically did. But he found Potter beside him, still close, the warmth of his skin burning his own.

He spied one of the freckles, lightened as the sunlight streamed through the window, and he traced it gently with a trembling index finger.

Sleepy emerald eyes peered at him, a mix of simmering delight and sharp anxiety gleaming within them.

"Your eyes have some gold in them, did you know?" Malfoy murmured softly.

"No," was sighed in response, "but I want to come back, and you can tell me all about the little things I've never noticed about myself."

"I'll break your heart, Potter."

"I'll break yours."

There was a silence, the sunlight shining merrily, a far too out-of-place response for such a conversation. Draco took one of Potter's hands, tracing each fingertip gently.

"There isn't a happily ever after for us, you know. Even with your Gryffindor courage and all that."

"Whatever time we have will be worth it, even if I lose everything."

"You're a masochist."

Harry met his softened gaze. "So are you."

A small, sad smile tilted his lips. "I know."

"Saturday, midnight?"

"I'll be there."


	16. Chapter 16

Ron sighed, sitting beside his best friend in the Great Hall. Most students had dispersed, but a few still lingered about. He looked slightly dejected, though what about he wasn't quite sure.

"He's left again." _He _was in reference to Harry, who had mentioned a rather sloppy cover story involving Quidditch and Charms class. Ron suspected he hadn't even really thought about the lie.

"I know," murmured Hermione, who leaned against him. The boy fought to keep the butterflies in his stomach from showing. They'd been dancing around the subject of their attraction for quite a while, and _he _wasn't about to bring it up.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Does _he _know?"

"I'm not sure," was the girl's distant answer.

There was a brief silence. "D'ya think he makes Harry happy? Malfoy? I'm still finding the whole thing hard enough to believe."

"Yes," said Hermione with slight hesitation, "Yes, I think he does. We might not understand it, but I suppose we don't really have to."

"Suppose not," echoed Ron, "but _I _still think it's odd."

"Sometimes odd things can be quite lovely," said Luna quixotically, who made the two Gryffindors jump. It was rather eerie, Ron thought, how she could pop up so quietly.

"Well, I'm going to find my socks." said the blonde girl, in her typical soft way. She turned and almost floated down the hallway, disappearing in the shadows.

"I've always wondered about that girl," muttered Hermione after she had left.

ooooo

Draco peered at him ostentatiously, the pleasure practically rolling off his lithe form in thick waves. "You're here early." The pale, pretty lips curved into a smile that made his mercury orbs shine with dangerous glee. "Miss me, Potter?"

Harry muttered something, but the blonde hadn't heard what it was. Draco supposed he didn't really care, either, especially with the way that Potter held him down, ripping at his clothes in impatience.

"You wear too many clothes," he growled as he nipped at the bare flesh.

"All the better to taunt you with, my dear."

Harry laughed. "Never pegged you for the type to use pet names, _sweetheart." _

"That's hardly the worst pet name there is, _Snookums._"

Harry paused in his actions. "Please don't ever call me that," his face contorted in distaste.

Of course, being a Slytherin, he felt the need to continue.

"Oh, but _Harry," _gasped Draco dramatically, "I just _must _embarrass you with terms of endearment! Do you like _Princess? _Princess_ Harry!"_ The brunette looked at the other boy with pure mortification.

"How about _cupcake?" _He cackled for a moment and then just to see if Harry's eyes could grow any larger, whispered, "_My cutesy-wootsy cupcake!" _

A hand slapped across his lips. "No more," whispered the olive-skinned male weakly. Draco pushed the hand away, smirking.

"And _you're _supposed to be the big, bad Gryffindor that's going to save us all."

A strange gleam passed through the green eyes, considerably darkening them for a moment. Harry forced a smile and ignored the comment, leaning in to kiss him again.

A certain Slytherin's pale hand stopped him. "Potter," he muttered slowly, narrowing his eyes, "what was that?"

He at least had the grace to appear confused. "What?"

"What's wrong, Potter?"

The boy ignored him, leaning and snatching the pale lips for a moment before getting pushed away again. "I can't kiss you now?" snapped Harry.

"Something's bothering you. Stop trying to dodge the question." Draco bit out heatedly, annoyed at how childish he was being.

"Leave it!" snarled the other, his green eyes raging, shooting venomous daggers.

"If I do, you'll only make passive-aggressive comments about your wounded pride," snarked Draco, "so get over it and spit it out."

"Fine! I thought I was different with you!"

"Different how?!" screamed the blonde, kneeling on the bed, hands roughly attached to Harry's heaving shoulders.

"You never bought into the saviour shite," muttered Harry hoarsely, "or at least, I thought you didn't. And I thought if…if I came here, the expectations and the legacy and all that rot would just be locked away, and I could be _just _Harry.

"That's all I want to be. Just Harry. Not a celebrity, not adored by everyone in whole sodding Wizarding world." He rubbed his neck self-consciously, averting his gaze from the boy in front of him, whose only response was to flop, quite ungracefully, on his back.

Draco stared at the ceiling for a few tense moments before he answered.

"You can't run away from it. And just because I know you as the charming savior doesn't mean I think it's entirely deserved," he stared at Gryffindor, who lay beside him, and continued, "I _did _think it was a bunch of rot, Harry.

"You survived out of a fluke, nothing more. Your talent for magic is something innate, something that I think would have been there regardless of your encounter with Voldemort or not. Hell, I even think of you as a bit of a dolt, sometimes. It doesn't stop me from liking you, unfortunately—which is something I still can't understand.

"But you never once stopped to think about _my _perspective, did you? I'm facing expectations too, Harry. To follow in my father's footsteps, to create a pureblood heir, to exceed my family's hopes. And I hate it, because I see the others here, who've no idea how much I _want _their freedom. I'd trade all my riches for the chance to breathe, for the chance to do what _I _want."

"It's quite the mess, isn't it?" Harry whispered, dragging his index finger across the pale skin in front of him, "We've decided to run away anyway."

"If you could go back, would you change your mind?"

"No. Would you?"

"I suppose I like keeping you around."

The brunette ignored the thinly veiled insult. "If you could do anything you wanted, what would you do?"

"Travel. Maybe even visit the muggle side of things. I still think they're horrid creatures, though. What would you do?"

"I'm not sure. I've always wanted to learn how to play an instrument. The piano, maybe."

Draco chuckled softly, and propped his head up with his arm. "I know how. Pureblood tradition, and all that. I'll teach you sometime, if you want."

"I'm going to hold you to that," answered Harry seriously. He knew that it wouldn't happen, not really, but he was allowed to dream. Playing pretend was expected here. It was their hiding place.

"Would you like to stay over?"

He was surprised. Draco had never offered before. "Yes."

"Don't steal the covers, Potter."

"Don't snore, Malfoy."

ooooo

Ron cornered him at breakfast. "You never came back last night," he hissed, passing the sausages to his friend.

"No, I didn't." His nonchalant response made the other boy sigh.

Hermione made small talk, and it was so unsubtle that there was a twinge of annoyance in his chest. He knew they would try to talk to him later.

Later was, apparently, dragging him down to the lake.

"Do you really think this is a good idea, Harry? You _know _what Malfoy is." The accusatory tone made Harry scowl, and immediately made him remark defensively.

"You don't know that, Ron."

"What, are you _blind? _He's the son of a Death Eater! Even I know in old-fashioned tradition, like the Malfoys follow, the oldest fulfills certain duties—and need I point out that he's an only child?"

"Ron, lay off," Hermione whispered, patting his shoulder in an attempt to calm him."We're worried, that's all. You're our best friend, Harry."

"Worried?" It came out harsher than he'd intended.

"You're going to have to face him in battle, Harry. This…_thing _you have with him, it could cloud your judgment, endanger yourself."

"Worried that my own pathetic notions will cost me the victory then? That's rich. Thanks."

"You know that's not what she meant!" barked out Ron, in the girl's defense.

A bird cawed somewhere, and Harry stared sullenly at the ground. It turned out that his Sunday was going to be rather terrible, not to mention all the coursework that was waiting for him in the common room.

"Oh, Merlin," whispered Ron, who paled, terror seeping into his eyes, "you're actually _falling _for him, aren't you? The _ferret, _of all people!"

"So what if I am?" snarled Harry, "Are you going to try to hex me? Humiliate me, even?"

The ginger-haired boy, fed up with Harry's comments, shoved him to the ground. "You're being an arse. We're happy _you're _happy, but it doesn't mean you can't treat us like shite when you don't want to face the truth. C'mon, Hermione."

"We're not trying to tell you to stop seeing him. We're trying to tell you we _support _you, despite the fact that it's going to complicate things in the long run. Even Ron thinks you're happier now, and we think you deserve it. Even if you are being a prat." Hermione's irritated response made him feel guilty.

The two left, still fairly irritated with their friend. They knew he would apologize in time, but a time out wasn't a bad idea.

Meanwhile, the aforementioned Gryffindor wondered how Draco would react to the mere idea of Harry sodding Potter saying _I love you. _

It made him nauseous with anxiety to even think about it.

ooooo

Snape was frowning. Not that it was unusual for the man to frown—quite the contrary. But Draco knew his godfather well enough to discern the differences of his numerous expressions.

The current frown on the man's face was the one that told him he knew something about his godson that Draco didn't want the man to know. And furthermore, he knew Snape was going to lecture him—the man was irritatingly fond of lectures—about it.

"I trust that the room has been more than accommodating?"

Hmm. He was beating around the bush. That was an even worse sign.

"Yes. Very, actually."

"And have you had any lingering effects of the possession?"

"No, not at all. But… _what _did happen, Severus? Why did I hear the voices—the bad ones, at least, and what happened to Myrtle after the exorcism?"

Snape sighed. He didn't feel like explaining anything. "There's light and dark to every soul, Mr. Malfoy. You, unfortunately, received the dark portion. And as for the exorcism…when a ghost takes the time to heal in a person's body, it's actually usually not very bothersome. That moaning bint has probably already gone from Potter."

The blonde nodded thoughtfully, leaning against the professor's desk. The numerous cauldrons created obtuse shadows, the environment as a whole suiting Snape's reputation far too much.

"Speaking of Potter," said Snape dryly, "I see that you two have, unfortunately, not parted ways. It's not like you to dismiss my advice."

Draco pinked at the remark. He supposed that was all the man needed to answer his suspicions, but the boy decided to try, quite uselessly, to suggest otherwise.

"We lived together for a month. As a result, we settled our differences."

"And settling differences includes late night snogging now? How times have changed," sneered the dark figure, his eyes reflecting disappointment.

Draco stayed silent, trying to suppress his anxiety. His mentor most likely knew of it anyway—they both knew each other far too well.

"You know this is only going to complicate things. What are you going to do when the Dark Lord finds out? He could use you to lure Potter. Do you want that to happen?"

"You're a spy," the younger male argued, "the bastard could find out at anytime and use _you _to his advantage as well. I don't think you're in any position to talk to me about risks, Severus, without admitting your own."

"I don't want you costing Potter his chance to win the war. Perhaps that's selfish, but do you really want to be the cause of genocide?"

His pupil scowled. "I know it'll end, and so does Potter. We're not _that_ thick. But for now, I see no reason to cower like a child."

"You always were too hard-headed for your own good," snarled Snape, "What about your mother? You know she's at the mercy of _him, _who also has no possession of empathy and kindness. Would you like to have your mother tortured and killed?"

"You're such a bastard. I'm leaving. And if you mention any of this to Potter, don't you dare think I won't tell Voldemort of your own treachery."

After the defiant boy had left, Snape growled. Potter always had been a bad influence.

ooooo

Harry found Draco in the library. He sat down beside him. The blonde didn't look up from his Ancient Runes text.

"You should be doing your work, Potter."

The shrug was evident in the brunette's apathetic tone. "I don't care. This has been an all-around crap day."

Draco looked up, propping his head up with his arm. "Tomorrow will be worse if you don't get your coursework done."

"Since when did you care about that, anyway?"'

"I was forced to care. Surely you didn't think my family would stand for anything below perfection?"

"I don't want to talk about expectations right now," sighed the other.

The blonde went back to his book.

"Ignoring me, now?" grumbled his irritated mate. There was no response.

"Fine, then," huffed Harry, getting ready to leave. A pale hand shot out, grabbing the olive-skinned wrist.

"What's with you? I never pegged you for the clingy type," murmured Draco.

"I'm not clingy!" gasped Harry, quite appalled at the suggestion.

A chuckle and raised eyebrow was the answer of his defensive remark.

"Is it so bad that I just want to spend time with my…is it so bad that I just want to spend time with you?"

"You were about to say _boyfriend, _weren't you?" The tone was smug.

A dark red bloom began to show on the other boy's face. "Well, I didn't, so let it go."

"You don't want me to be?"

Harry gaped, and spluttered at the question. "That's—well, I just…I didn't think you were the relationship type."

"Hm, shows what you actually know about me."

"Harry, I think that shagging and snogging with one person, regardless of the fact that it's secretive, fits the category of a relationship. Anyway, I don't like to share, so you're stuck with me."

"Pity." But Harry smiled, contradicting his whisper, and took the blonde's hand.

It was quiet for a long time, and Draco had gotten immersed in his work again. The only sign that he still knew Harry was there, in fact, was the way he rubbed the boy's thumb every time he turned a page.


	17. Chapter 17

The letter came on a Wednesday. Even with the threat of war looming, it had still been a relatively normal, boring Wednesday.

Draco hadn't thought much of it—he'd arrived late at breakfast, what with his latest midnight rendezvous brimming far past midnight these days—and stuck it in his bag to read later. It bore the seal of the Malfoy family crest, and the blonde just figured it was his mother's typical weekly letter.

She liked to tell him what was going on, but her letters also carried a silent goading—_when are you going to get the mark, son? He's waiting_.

Draco thought she just needed things to do, so she sent him letters. Annoying letters.

Classes passed, and at mealtimes he was still ignored—the jeering whispers had ceased a week prior, something he was still suspicious about but chose not to question.

Potter would give him signs of affection, signs only Draco was able to decipher—slight nods, tilts of reddened lips, heavy gazes beneath long lashes.

The Slytherin was less obvious than his rather thick counterpart. He settled for a flicker of a gaze, or a small, nearly invisible smile.

After supper, he had returned to his suite, dropping the bag on the floor as he headed toward the loveseat. Harry had left one of his shirts there. He held the material to his face, breathing in the familiar scent—the smell of soap with a hint of cinnamon.

"Hm," Draco murmured, letting the shirt rest against his abdomen as he stared at the ceiling, reflecting on the oddity that his life was turning into.

Lazily, at the memory of a letter from his mother waiting, he fished the bag closer to him and retrieved the dry parchment, the silver wax falling gently against the floor as he opened the envelope.

_My dear Draco, _it began, and he rolled his eyes—she'd never called him anything else but _Draco _or _my son_—and continued to read.

_I must say that before I mention anything else that I do love you, very much. I know it was hard living with your father and I, with the way we chose to raise you. But never doubt that I want what's best for you, Draco. Never. Always remember, that as your mother, I am required to do my very best, and though you might not agree with my current choices now, I know you will grow to understand them. _

Draco felt a pit of apprehension form in his stomach. This was nothing like his mother's typical letters—they droned on about the weather and the state of her garden, and what Lucius had said to her when she visited him—never were they this honest or personal.

_By the time you will have received this, it will be far too late for you to ever return to the Manor. Some of your more sentimental things I have given to Severus for safekeeping—you may request them from him, if you still want them. I beg of you, my son, whatever you feel after you read this letter, please never return to that place. I will not be there. Only the Dark Lord will be there, and if you do go, no one will be able to protect you._

_I do not know when you have received this, but approximately six weeks ago, I asked Severus to do something for me. I asked him to obliviate every memory I ever had of you and your father. After he has done so, I will only remember vague pieces of you—and will believe that both of you are dead._

His chest began to tighten, and his breaths came out in quivering breaths. Everything was absolutely and completely numb, with only his mind screaming that it couldn't possibly be true.

_It breaks my heart to do this, my sweet boy. But I am only doing it so you can live your life as you want—better than anything I ever had. Please don't get angry at Severus. He was unable to refuse and he wants the best for you as well._

_Severus does not know where I have gone. For your safety, I also will not tell you. I know this hurts you right now, but I promise you, in time, you will understand. Please do not do anything rash. _

_I love you, Draco. Always._

She loved him? She _loved _him? What trite garbage! A real mother would never abandon her child! How dare she!

He felt lightheaded and ready to faint, his hand splayed against his chest as he tried to breathe, hysterics bubbling past his throat in an odd, screeching whisper.

His mother had left him. Left him, all alone, to fend for himself, with a pile of Death Eaters waiting for his return—if he refused, they'd surely go after him. What had the woman been thinking?!

So he did the only thing he could really do—he broke down and cried.

oooo

The only thing about long, terrible crying jags was that when they were over, there was always a sense of numbness and calm—an exhaustion that settled, thickly, over one's body, as the tears dried and the tissue was thrown away.

It ridded the pesky emotions that had been overpowering him before, and allowed him to think, clearly, about what to do.

Clearly, the answer was to go after Severus. His Godfather betrayed him just as much as his mother, and while he could not go and scream at the woman, he sure as hell could with Snape.

He exited his room, rage fulfilling the emptiness in his gut and drying the tears brimming in his eyes. It was close to curfew, but Draco didn't care—nor would he have under normal circumstances, but this was a special one.

Yes, indeed, quite special.

He passed quite a few bewildered portraits, snarling under his breath, visions of the things he could do to the man once he got there running through his mind.

Passing the boy's lavatory, he heard an odd wail. The boy paused, momentarily distracted from his mission. Poking his head through the doorway, the crying bint that had made his life hell appeared, gazing at him sorrowfully.

"I tried to warn you," she whimpered, "I saw them, one night, whispering. They really should have cast a silencing charm."

"You _knew?!" _Draco snarled.

"I was going to tell you, but then—ohhh, but then that _spell _happened and…"

Running a hand down his face, the flushed male dismissed her callously, having even more anger than before.

When arriving at the Potions room, he was dismayed to find it empty. But that did not put him off his search—he would search all night if he had to.

Perhaps the professors were having a meeting. He turned to go to the room where they usually held their conversations, and bumped into Hermione Granger. She stifled a sneer. Draco simply snarled.

Once she met his red-rimmed eyes, her barely-concealed distaste became concern.

_Of course, _bloody Gryffindors had to stick their nose in everything.

"Malfoy, are you—"

"Yes, fine, just leave me alone, you stupid girl!"

It was one of the worst retorts he had ever made, but he had left so fast the nosy know-it-all couldn't even respond.

Starting at his frame as he left, Hermione frowned. Something _was _wrong, and seeing how he was currently with her best friend, she supposed she was obliged to help him—even when he didn't want it.

Except _she _herself couldn't do much—that was left to Harry. She abandoned her plans to speak with the surly Potions professor and went to seek out her friends.

ooooo

After a long search, Draco finally found the man he was looking for in the _library _of all places, peering condescendingly at a potions text.

"_You," _Draco bellowed, extending one shaking index finger to point at him, "Why? You fucking bastard, why?"

It was the first time he had ever seen Snape speechless. Any other day, Draco would have found that incredibly amusing.

"Draco, this is really not the most proper place to speak of—"

"_Shut up!" _he responded, clenching his teeth and glaring malevolently, inching closer so he could hiss in the man's ear, _"You're telling me why right now or I swear to Merlin I'll kill you right here."_

"You would allow yourself to go to Azkaban after everything we did for you?"

"_For _me!" Draco exploded, numerous books falling at his outburst, "_For me? _I never pegged you for a _liar, _Sev," a hollow laugh escaped his throat, "but I suppose there's so very much I _don't _know about you, like the ability to _betray _the boy you're entrusted to care for!"

"This petty tantrum will cease right now, Mr. Malfoy, or I will do it for you," Snape warned with a steely gaze.

Another hysterical laugh came from the other male, his eyes crazed and bitter. "Well, Severus, go ahead—I don't doubt you'd be able to do _that _as well,"

The older man scowled, grabbing the boy by the scruff of his shirt and dragging him out of the library, where numerous students stared in bewilderment at the screaming boy attached to him.

More students stared as they swept through the halls. _Wonderful, _Snape sighed, _Absolutely brilliant._He found the nearest empty room and forced the door open, releasing Draco with a hard twist of the fabric.

"Now," he began, curling his upper lip in distaste, "Would you like to continue to act like a child or may we speak about this like grown up wizards?"

The intensity of Draco's stare made him a bit uncomfortable, but he ignored it, staring back with the typical aloof air that he made use of in his classroom.

"How long ago?" His throat ached from all the screaming, and his tone was rough, devoid of the anger he'd been using before.

"When your mother heard about you in St. Mungo's, that's when she started to plan. I was initially opposed to the idea, but Malfoys can be quite convincing, as you know. We completed the session the day before Potter went and kidnapped you."

"He didn't kidnap me," Draco snapped, "And why did it take so long for the letter?"

"She wanted you to be mentally and physically healthy before she shared the news. If we'd told you earlier…she was worried you wouldn't be able to handle it."

"How thoughtful," answered the blonde, his tone dripping with venom.

"Draco, many times in your life I have seen you act like an insolent, spoilt child. I chose not to say anything. But that ends now. _You _are an adult now, and you need to start acting like it. I will not allow you to jeopardize everything your mother and I did to give you this freedom."

The steely, glittering orbs lifted up, drilling into the smoldering stare of his professor.

"Snape," he began softly, "You no longer have _any _say in how I conduct my life. Don't talk to me, don't try to even _look _at me. You're dead to me. This your only warning."

The man, fully angered at that point, lifted his wand. Draco looked at him coolly, as if daring him to hex him.

The wand lowered. Draco left.

oooooo

Meanwhile, Hermione was returning to the commonroom when she saw Draco Malfoy, of all people, snapping and snarling like a captive predator, Snape as his captor. The man glared at her. Hermione shook her head. This night was shaping up to be very, very odd.

She rushed up the stairs, muttered the password to the portrait, and dropped her books onto the table where Ron and Harry were currently playing a game of chess.

"Hey!" yelled Ron petulantly. His expression changed when she saw the girl's murderous stare.

"Harry," the girl said crisply, "come with me, it's important."

Harry furrowed his brow, about to ask why, but chose not to. Sometimes it was just better to listen to 'Mione rather than suffer her wrath when she felt impatient.

Ron shugged. "G'luck, mate."

The two students walked past the curious stares to the stairs, where Hermione quickly cast a charm before speaking.

"Something's wrong with Malfoy. _Really _wrong, Harry. I think you should talk to him."

The boy stared at her in surprise. "Er…when did you speak to him?"

Hermione sighed irritably. "I didn't! He snarled at me, in fact, and then as I was searching for you, I passed him howling like an _animal. _With _Snape."_

Harry frowned. "Snape was howling?"

The girl stamped her foot, growling. "Harry! No! I meant Snape was pulling him somewhere, and Malfoy was certainly none too pleased with him."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Was Snape making him get the mark? Was that it?

Still, Malfoy would _kill _him if he came to talk to him when he wasn't ready. He'd made the mistake once before, when asking about the Death Eaters, and Draco had ignored him for two full days.

"He won't even want to talk about it if I do—"

"If you don't go talk to that boy, I will drag you there," she threatened. An angry Hermione was worse than an angry Draco.

Harry lifted his arms in surrender. "Okay, okay!"

When arriving at the door, he knocked twice. Then twice more. There was no response. Unsure of what to do—what was the boyfriend etiquette for these types of things?—Harry stood there uselessly for quite a while.

And then he tried the doorknob. It was actually open, which was odd, because the blonde _never _left it unlocked. He entered, closing the door quietly.

Draco was nowhere to be found.

He spied a letter on the floor, and picked it up, sitting on the loveseat in the process.

No _wonder _he'd been acting so odd, he thought, feeling a pang of anger and sadness and frustration.

Then Harry paled. Draco would be _furious _when he found out that he'd—

"Potter,"

The boy raised two large eyes up to the form in the doorway, who, apparently, did not pick up on the fact that Harry had invaded his privacy.

Yet.

"You left your shirt here," Draco muttered, sitting beside him and tossing the item in his direction, scoffing when it hit him in the face.

"Some seeker skills you have."

He opened his mouth, about to mention the whole invasion-of-privacy thing, but the blonde cut him off.

"Don't ask. I know Granger mentioned it, and all you bloody Gryffindors have this _saving _people thing—" He stopped short when he saw the letter by Harry's hand.

"You read it," the tone was flat.

"I swear, I didn't know, I wouldn't have if—"

Draco just sighed. "For Merlin's sake, Potter, shut up." He left him there, retreating to the bedroom, shutting the door.

Harry ignored the obvious sign to leave the other alone and entered.

"Of course, that was too subtle for you," spat out Draco nastily, who had been in the process of removing his tie and shoes.

The brunette slipped off his robe and shoes, sighing lightly as he sank into the mattress, running his fingers against the stitching of the duvet.

"Potter, are you deaf _and _blind? I don't want you here!"

Harry turned to look at him, with a serious expression. "You are going to get in this bed, and I am staying here tonight. I don't care what you say."

Draco stared at him blankly, unsure of what his significant other was up to.

"I'm here for you."

The blonde sighed, giving up, settling beside the stubborn lion. "I'm not talking to you," Draco said finally.

He felt warm lips brushing against his temple, a long, slightly frustrated sigh escaping them after the contact.

"I know."

ooooo

In a small town in Maine, a pale woman with a British accent bought a house overlooking the water. She was aware that she had recently lost her family in a devastating fire, as well as all of her things.

She had simply awoke in a nice hostel room one day, with a deed to a house in her suitcase and some identification. Among the meager possessions was an American bank account number, and a few sets of clothes. No one noticed nor did they watch her leave.

Somehow she knew what she was supposed to do, even in the haze of the nagging feeling that there was something she was supposed to remember.

Ophelia was sure she liked the taste of Merlot, knew that she had grown up in London, raised by a single mother who worked two jobs to put food on the table and to send her to a small but respectable private school.

But her family, the one that had perished in the fire—she was aware of the loss, but yet felt nothing. Just a pool of emptiness and vague confusion.

She was _sure _however, that with the advice of her counselor—Dr. Richards, she remembered him quite fondly, as he had helped her immensely—she would be just fine in a new place.


	18. Epilogue

The next day, Draco awoke to not a warm body but a torn piece of parchment. Hastily scrawled on it was a quick apology and a promise to seek him out later. He left the bedroom, toes curling at the cold floor; the note made a startling cry as the fire beside him devoured its prey.

The blonde sighed, snapping his fingers at the house elf who had beckoned to his call, retrieving tea a few moments later. It wasn't warm enough. Draco ignored it.

The rising sun seeped into the room like liquid, gushing forward and drowning him whole, creating dark spots in his vision. The letter was still on the floor, forgotten from the night before.

He took in the first line: _I must say that before I mention anything else that I do love you, very much. _With a derisive snort, the fire fed again, crackling gleefully.

A loud whine stopped the self-pitying that was sure to come after that moment, and Harry, looking more ragged than usual stepped over the threshold, his green stare somehow much more striking as the liquid sunlight caught the emeralds and making them glitter.

"Hello."

It seemed nonchalant, far too simple of a greeting for the tension in the room. Draco looked at him, the gunmetal stare pensive and slightly intimidating.

"Were you ever angry with them?"

Harry looked befuddled at the question, dropping into the space beside the boy with a scrunched up expression of confusion.

"For sacrificing themselves." Explained Draco further, with a tinge of impatience.

The brunette was momentarily gobsmacked, and then answered, "Well…once or twice, perhaps. I was more angry at the fact that I'd ever survived, really."

The thinner boy nodded silently, taking in the answer, rolling it around in his head for a moment. "Do you think I should go after her?"

The Gryffindor shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't know anything about the longterm effects of the Obliviate spell."

There was a long pause.

"You could travel, like you'd wanted. Try to find her along the way."

"If I did…" Draco paused, staring at the creases in his fingers, "If I did, I'd want you to come with me, I think."

"Are you sure you wouldn't end up wanting to throttle me a week into the trip?" teased Harry gently, bumping into the shoulder beside him.

"A week? You give yourself far too much credit, Potter. I'd want to throttle you after two days."

"And be stuck with your hand forever after?"

"Touche, Potter. So I suppose we'd have a quite a bit of planning to do, then. If we agreed on it."

Harry looked at him, his eyes already warning the blonde of disappointment before he ever spoke of it. "You know I couldn't. With the war looming…"

"Ever think about yourself? There's plenty of others itching to fight."

Harry sighed, rubbing his face wearily. "They need me."

_So do I, _thought Draco, but quickly banished the thought from his head.

"So what's your grand plan, Saviour boy? Waltzing out with a wand, marching straight to the Lord himself, challenging him to a duel?" The words were hard, bitter.

"If I can find the Horcruxes in time, I might be able to prevent the deaths of many others. You can't ask me to sacrifice all of them so I can just go traipsing about with—"

"With what? A _Death Eater?" _

"Damn it, Draco, stop trying to make me feel worse. I already feel like an arse, all right? If there was some way to make it…make it work, believe me, I'd take it in a heartbeat. But there _is no other way." _

"So what, you're leaving at some point to face imminent danger for…for these Horcruxes? And when exactly were you going to tell me of this charming little plan?"

"Stop it," snarled Harry, reddening, "I went over it with Hermione and Ron this morning, they'd refused to stay behind and—"

The pale boy's fists clenched, his fingernails digging into the skin, creating sharp daggers of sensation. "So what am _I _supposed to do? Sit around and knit?"

"You can't expect me to tell you what to do now that you have the chance of a _lifetime, _you can get away from this place and start all over—"

"Stop with the meek excuses, Potter. If you want to end this, just say so."

"I don't want to!" Harry exploded, jumping to his feet and snarling in frustration, "I love you, you bastard, and while the charming little fairytale ending would be wonderful, _this isn't a fucking fairytale!_"

"How romantic, Potter, you've set my heart aflutter."

The face looming closer to his own contorted with a scowl.

"If you won't come with me," Draco started with a lazy wave of his hand, tilting an eyebrow snottily, "then I suppose I will just have to accompany you, won't I?"

"No," was the quick and stubborn answer, "It's too dangerous."

"I'm not a sodding girl, Potter. I can look after myself, and it's not like I'm abysmal with a wand, unlike a particular male redhead I could mention."

"He's not abysmal!" defended the other, "and you can't go. There's no way you can change my mind."

Draco raised his chin defiantly, dodging Harry's attempt to keep him from escaping. It didn't work, and the boy sighed, chasing after the running blonde before he made some disastrous mess.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Granger," barked Draco, making the girl jump behind the thick text she had been reading, "You need to explain to your thickheaded friend that I _am _going with you three, whether he likes it or not."

The book landed on the table with a thud. "If Harry said no, then why do you think I'm not inclined to agree with his decision?"

"Because it's hypocritical to take his two best friends he cares for deeply and yet refuse the aid of his boyfriend."

Hermione sighed. He had a point. "Fine, I'll talk to him. But if he still says no, don't you dare make any more complaints about it."

"You know I will anyway," answered the boy snarkily, dropping into the chair beside her, reading the title of the book on its spine. It was in Latin.

The girl groaned inwardly, knowing she was in for a difficult battle. Before she could even think up a quick plan, Harry showed up, panting, pointing a wavery index finger at his boyfriend.

"Whatever he told you, don't listen to it."

"Come on, Harry," muttered the female Gryffindor, "It's not like we won't need the help, and he's not half bad with a wand."

"Just because he's a stubborn, spoilt git doesn't mean I'm going to cater to his every whim," snapped the dark-haired boy, "and you know he's going to whine about being dirty all the time."

"Harry!" growled Hermione, "He's not a child. Let him make his own decisions. If he wants to help us, let him help us."

Draco smiled triumphantly.

"No!" muttered Harry, "and you know Ron's going to side with me on this. So it's a draw. Therefore, he's going to stay here, and knit, if he so chooses."

"I thought I heard my name," said Ron behind them, dumping a pile of books on the table, "thanks for rescuing me, mate."

"Ron," asked Hermione impatiently, "Draco wants to come with us. What do you think? And before you answer, think about the _consequences."_

The ginger-haired boy opened his mouth to respond, and was cut off. "Consequences, Ronald," hissed the girl, raising an eyebrow. The boy immediately looked forlorn, shrugging apologetically at his friend, "Sorry, mate. I think 'Mione's right."

The blonde guffawed with a smirk, "I'm glad sex is more important," he said, his eyes glittering knowingly.

Harry groaned. "You two are no help," he whinged.

Draco stood up, taking the olive-skinned hand in his own. "C'mon, Harry, it's been two days since I've been laid and that's far too long. Toodles, you two."

"Too much information," groaned the freckled boy.

"Why?" grumbled Harry, as he allowed the boy to tug him down the hallway, "Why won't you just listen to me?"

"Because I love you. And I also love sex."

Knowing there was no way he could win, Harry gave up.

Besides, sex was known to be a great destresser, reasoned the boy, so it couldn't be all bad. "Fine, but I'm making you practice in healing spells and shields and everything else. Don't you think you can lounge around. I'm going to make you work your arse off."

"I'm sure you will," said the blonde with a waggle of his eyebrows.

_I love him. I love him, I love him, I love him, _Harry chanted, reminding himself.

Of course, when they finally reached the room, coherent thought soon ceased altogether.

-o-o-o-

_08/13/14_

_I do plan to create a series of one-shots or a sequel for this, but I honestly have too many WIPs as it is, so I won't be starting anything new with this storyline just yet, but keep an eye out! Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

_-Remi_


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